Sanguinem Draconis
by ChrisJM89
Summary: '... Her armies will march. The death of the Mede's bloodline has changed nothing. The Dragonborn comes. Signed E.'
1. A jewel in the Crown

_**Authors notes:**_

_First off, those that have been following my Fallout fanfic, I apologises for the slowdown of updates, however a case of writers block has hit me when it comes to the Fallout universe. Rather than simply not write though, I've decided to have a go at one of Bethesda's other universe's. The Elder Scrolls series and Skyrim, their latest instalment. (Shades of Steel will continued I will stress here!)_

_I don't own the series or the characters within, Bethesda owns all and thankfully hasn't sold out like Bioware and its three coloured space magic... ahem anyway. This is non-profit and entirely for my amusement and creativity as well to give readers a chance to see what world my imagination creates._

_Reviews are appreciated and welcomed. Both positive and negative if the criticism is constructive, I shall try my best to take on board what people say and in doing so improve my future chapters and stories as a whole. _

_This story will be POV based (for the most part). A kin to George R.R. Martins Song of Ice and fire series but will also follow the narrative style of Frank Herbert's Dune, in that the events being chronicled have already transpired. _

_The population of Tamriel and its provinces will also be realistically represented as will the distances and sizes of cities, towns, villages etc. for a supposed Continent near the size of Australia._

* * *

_**Chapter One: **__**A jewel in the Crown**_

_"Child of the Sky. _

_Scion of Red Mountain, _

_Daughter of Akatosh, _

_Maiden of Dawn and Dusk, _

_Bride of Talos._

_The founder of the fifth Empire was all these things and more. Lest we all forget, the Matriarch of Tamriel's royal dynasty held the given name of Merilis and unlike many of her Nordic kin held a middle name also, Talia. Talos in female form. This is the name her family and friends knew her by including the author of this book._

_Many in the years since have been known to call her Tiberia paralleling the hollowed Talos' own plethora of titles and epithets. Namely Tiber Septim, the founder of the third Empire and the name given to him by his Imperial Cyrodiilic subjects. _

_What most people now fail to remember is her last given name, the one her father gave to both her and her mother. Indoril of the Dunmeri house of the same name. The saviour of Nirn from Alduin's fury was no mere daughter of Man but one of Mer too. A union of both that would reforge Tamriel anew."_

_**- From "A history of the fifth Empire" by Erandur Marvani.**_

_**Whiterun Hold: The Throat of the World. High Hrothgar**_

_"...As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. __Thuri, Dovahkiin__. I gladly acknowledge the power of your __Thu'um__. __Zu'uOdahviing_. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can."

Her voice spoke out then, it appeared meek to Talia's own ears but the Dovah towering above her heard all the same.

"Odahviing... I have need... of you now. I need... to get off... here."

She coughed painfully between every word, her fight against Alduin had been hard-fought and punishing. Divines only knew how she'd survived intact. The Dovah had bitten the shield she bore in half, the Aegis of Ysgramor himself had saved her left arm from being ripped asunder. The blade now at her side was also broken in two. The Ebony and Golden Akaviri sheath that rested aside her left thigh housed only a full third of the katana. The rest remained in Alduin, the one Dov whose soul had remained intact after death...

"_Krosis. _You are injured _Dovahkiin._"

"No, no... I'm fine." She lied.

"_Noks. _Lies _Thuri, _I smell... _Sos._ Your blood and hurt. _Ov Odahviing, _trust me. _Vaat. _I swear _Dovahkiin. _My wings will lead you from _Monahven_." The Dovah stated in what Talia believed to be a sincere manner.

It wasn't like she'd be able to succeed in another battle. Talia was near defenceless, only her _Thu'um _remained and even her _voice _wouldn't be enough to defeat yet another Dragon. Odahviing could end her at this very moment, his kinds one danger would then be destroyed forever.

Yet despite her own thoughts. Talia relented and began her first steps towards the dark crimson Dovah...

...before collapsing onto the ever fresh falling snow below her aching feet.

Talia Indoril lost consciousness before hitting the ground.

'_Praan. Revaksaviik ahrk Thuri Briinah. Kiin do Bormah Akatosh. Praan.'_

Echoes of the conscious world made Talia's sleep uneasy, yet her needed respite did not cease until her own mind and body believed it was necessary. Upon waking one thing she noticed immediately was her new surroundings. She was no longer face down upon the throat of the world but propped up gently against a hard yet warm object that rose gracefully every few seconds. The snow was about her still yet the sun had changed its position greatly. Dawn had begun to take hold after her return from Sovngarde, yet now dusk was quickly setting upon her surroundings, bathing the once bright sunlit surface of white with the melancholy glow of moon and starlight.

Talia realised she was still upon the heights of High Hrothgar, yet a great jagged crimson construct curved protectively around her. A scaled wall that nestled her from the worst of the Throats continuous, near infinite and deadly tundric conditions.

"_Dovahkiin._ You are awake. You are rested now?" It was Odahviing once more.

She moved her head cautiously to the sound of the Dovah's voice, looking above to see the Elder Dragon peering straight back.

_I've been sleeping next to a Dragon... that's... okay... that's well... Different._

"How... did I get here?" _Not to mention how come you didn't eat me?_ Talia fortunately failed to articulate her latter thought.

"I moved you _Thuri_."

_Ohh Gods..._

"With what?"

"My mouth _Dovahkiin_."

_By Azura! I shouldn't have asked!_ Unabated and completely oblivious to Talia's new-found, yet quickly diminishing sense of horror, Odahviing continued to speak.

"You wished me to get you off here, _Tiid Vod. _Some time ago. Are you ready _Thuri_?"

"Yes, I need to go to Solitude. To Castle Dour." She said with a sense of conviction.

The Empire needed to know of Alduin's fate. Talia also needed a proper sleep. One in her own bed, which was no doubt waiting for her anxiously in Solitude.

"_Hin Hind Dovahkiin. _If it is your wish then my wings will take us to this place of Solitude."

Odahviing lowered himself further, allowing Talia to mount his scaled back once more. It was the second time she'd done this but by no means was she an expert in Dragon-riding. Yet it mattered not, the primary rule was to hold on tight and she'd do that with gusto and zeal. When Talia was finally comfortable she signalled to the Dovah that she was ready. His reply came with the veritable flapping of his monumental weathered wings.

_Talos guide me and make sure I don't fall!_

A few minutes past while the pair where in flight before another word was spoken again. Odahviing broke the deafening and thunderous silence that was the frozen rattling winds of Skyrim.

"The sound.._. __Dinok ahrk Dwiin. _Your _Fron... _your kin, they kill themselves _Dovahkiin__._ Death and Steel, I sense still."

"Where? Has the ceasefire been broken so soon Odahviing?" Talia bellowed over the chilled weather that accompanied twilight.

The answer came back again slowly, in both Odahviing's native tongue and her own Tamrielic. It was a credit to her own hearing and the Dovah's booming voice that she took in his speech at all considering the turbulent winds around them both.

"Ulfric, your _Fron_, broke the mortals peace. The Dov see things mere _Julahrk Fahliil_ cannot from above. Time in your _Sovngarde_ moves slowly too. Many_ Sul.._. days have passed and he has used them to great effect. The_ Mir_ of the Stone city has changed. _Daar Strunlahvu_ took the place of my capture and now they advance upon the place of Solitude. Many _Grah..._ battles have taken place. _Krosis,_ much sorrow too."

Her own curiosity got the better of her after the Dovah's statement. She'd only been in Sovngarde a few hours, a day at the most. Talia knew she couldn't have slept for that long either, many hours perhaps? Yes. A whole day? Divines no. Yet many days had apparently come and gone. This reckless and idiotic civil war had simply continued in her absence or maybe even because of it.

"Do you know what date it is?" She questioned curiously.

It had been the 2nd of Morning Star before departing for _Skuldafn_, if Talia remembered correctly.

_Had a week past? Two weeks? A month?_

_"__Geh." _The Dovah simply replied, much to her own confusion.

_"__Geh? Sorry but I still don't know your language."_

_"__Yes... __Dovahkiin__. I know your __Taazokaan__... Tamrielic dates. Shul... Sun's Dawn. The sixteenth."_

_Impossible._

A month and a half couldn't have past, that just felt wrong. Odahviing had no reason to lie however or at the least not any reason she would comprehend. Not after he'd failed to take the opportunity to kill Talia in her most vulnerable state mere hours before. She asked anyway, just to be certain, as well as to sate her own disbelief.

"Your sure about that?"

"Geh. Now did we continue onto Solitude Thuri?"

Her answer came back quickly in reply. There was no doubt in her mind of what she'd do next, it was something that should have happened a long time ago.

"Geh, we shall. I'm stopping this madness now."

Haafingar, Solitude and this infernal rebellion beckoned. As did Ulfric Stormcloak's reckoning. Her rest would wait.

* * *

_"Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon it. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it."_

_**- Welcome of the Greybeards to the Dragonborn.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Castle Dour.**_

The situation was dire.

_No, that's being optimistic Valens! By the Gods... by the Nine! _

"General Tullius, sir! The Stormcloak's attack on Uriel's gate has been repulsed, but they're building another battering ram after we destroyed the last. It'll impede their offensive actions for a time."

The progress report jarred the Imperial General out of his hopeless and sombre mood. It happened to be the first bit of bright news since the rebel offensive began.

"By the... Eight! Some good news for once. Legate Rikke, have Tribune Vernius rotate his men from the Uriel to the Kintyra gate, who knows if they'll attack again at such an hour, I want my men fed and rested as much as the Divines allow it. The Uriel gate must_ not_ fall, understood Legate? Watch the skies for Dragons too Rikke. Keep the Ballistae's armed and ready."

"Yes sir!" Rikke intoned immediately after he finished speaking. The Legate dismissed herself soon afterwards to return to her post upon the Inner Kintyra gate.

_She's an exceptional officer. Shame Ulfric will have her strung up and quartered, like he'd probably do to with me. __Valens thought grimly._

"General Tullius, can your Legion hold these rebels off before your reinforcements from Dawnstar arrive?"

It was another voice, they appeared different every time to the Generals ears of late. Legates informing him of reports along the walls, Auxiliary bringing news of outside via Raven, information that was ever decreasing each and every day.

This one was however was a constant pain in his backside. Elenwen, Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim and its High King, of which there was none.

_Bloodly Thalmor. Heh, at least she'd be strung up first. Damn Elf. _Valens wiped the momentary smirk off of his face before answering the Altmer.

"Yes. _If_ we hold Uriel's gate. If we keep the rebels pinned at the outer gate long enough, they'll keep losing men, attrition will grind them down. Ulfric will want a quick resolution, their Captains will be eager to advance. Their rank and file will become even more impetus. The rest of the Fourth Legion is amassing at Dawnstar along with the Imperial fleet. When they hit the Stormcloak's in the flank I'll have the Uriel opened-"

"What General? No! You'll keep the outer gate shut." The interruption from Elenwen continued to sour his already awful mood. Tullius' temperament was shrinking every moment the High Elf spoke.

"Sorry Ambassador. But _I_ command this garrison _and_ this Legion._ I_ take orders from the Emperor, no one else." His diplomatic acumen as ever was wanting, but the Thalmor was trying his patience even more than usual.

"An Emperor that's dead, need I remind you." The words she uttered held venom. That was abundantly clear, yet it was what Elenwen didn't say that happened to rile Tullius the most. The Altmer's thoughts were unmistakable.

_Your Emperor's dead, your Empire will be too after the Thalmor invade again._

He knew, she knew it. Everyone did, no doubt even Ulfric knew also. _Oblivion take them both! By the nine! Talos? Is this the price we pay for signing that damned treaty? _

Skyrim in the midst of civil war, whilst being simultaneously devastated by Dragons. Hammerfell stricken from the Empire. If Ulfric won in the coming siege, High Rock would then be cut off from Cyrodiil, only the Imperial Navy could send aid from the Breton's home province if the heartland was invaded once again. Which it would be.

_Damn the Thalmor! Damn the Concordat! Damn Ulfric! And damn these Dragons to Oblivion!_

Despite Valens ever-increasing wish to run the Altmer through with his blade he chose to remain calm.

"The line of succession will dictate who's to become the next Emperor or Empress. There'll always be a figure to seat the red diamond throne Ambassador, have no doubt about that. Now I need to think, to plan for tomorrows operations. I'm sure you requires rest, yes? The city won't fall overnight." Tullius stated in near cordial manner. That was an effort within itself.

Thankfully however, Elenwen appeared to receive his underlying message and departed from his sight after a graceful nod and curtsy.

Tullius needed time to analyse the battle reports in front of him as well as the events of the past few weeks and months. It was something he couldn't do with a politician besides him at all hours. Especially not one of the Thalmor.

_Talos guide me and give me strength because the Empire is losing it by the day._

An Imperial fleet with the Emperor himself aboard had arrived in Skyrim near the beginning of Morning Star. The Carrack _Katariah_ alongside her sister ship _Morihatha_ as well as their many escort Caravels had bought a further two cohort's of the rebuilt Imperial eighth Legion to compliment Tullius' own Fourth. The further thousand men and women at arms thankfully arrived in time to defend Solitude.

Only Elisif's garrison of three thousand souls and three of the Fourth's own cohorts had held the city on the 6thwhen Titus Mede the second disembarked. On the 11thValens Emperor was dead, three weeks later Ulfric and his Stormcloak's arrived in force.

Whiterun had already fallen on the 12thof Morning Star in no small part to Jarl Balgruuf refusal to garrison Imperial Legionnaires in his city. Balgruuf's brother, Thane Hrongar of Riverwood along with the Jarl's children and a few dozen mounted guards fled to Haafingar to inform the Empire and himself of the events. The Jarl of Whiterun was dead, run through in his own throne room and thrown off of Dragonsreach, one of the accounts had said. The dragon they'd captured had flown away ten days before apparently ridden by the Dragonborn. She hadn't been seen since.

Not two days later Markarth switched allegiances after Jarl Igmund Karth-Stone's assassination. Reports after the event blamed the inability to defend the Jarl on a forsworn uprising, which happened within the city of Stone upon the day of his demise.

With Igmund found dead after the uprising was quelled, the Silver-bloods forced themselves onto the seat of the Jarldom, giving Ulfric Stormcloak, the jewel of Reach without a fight. Many believed the forsworn took Karth-Stone's life but Tullius knew otherwise. It was someone else, something else orchestrating the plethora of deaths.

Titus Mede II was killed by them,

His aunt Alexia of House Vici and the Duchess of Colovia, as well as her eldest daughter Vittoria were also assassinated. Vittoria at her own wedding while her mother mere hours afterwards.

The Imperial Prince Caius and the royal grandchildren Emelia and Titus had also been murdered days before the Emperors demise.

Valens Tullius had two guesses for the perpetrators. Those who would commit such atrocity's and benefit were few and far between.

_The Thalmor or the Dark Brotherhood. Probably both._

Currently however the who and why mattered little, considering the forces besieging Solitude.

Yes it was true, his Empire currently had no Emperor but the line of succession would put Leonara Motierre nee Vici upon the throne.

Yet it was her husband that made sure even more turmoil would surface.

Duke Amaund Motierre of the West Weald, the Earl of the Valen Marches and Count of Skingrad held the same loathing of the Thalmor as Tullius himself. The General however knew a losing fight when he saw one. Motierre and his late father however, did not. The elder and junior Motierre's believed in a continued war against the Aldmeri Dominion, one which Valens knew the Empire would lose in its current state. Then factoring in other claimant to the throne and if they pressed their claims, Cyrodiil and what was left of the Empire was heading for a civil war all on its own... It hurt Tullius' head just thinking about the future events ahead, ones which he most probably wouldn't be apart of.

_Damn it! Damn it all to Oblivion!_

"By the nine!" Tullius uttered aloud, despite himself.

"Sir?"

"The eight... by the eight!" His correction, of course, would be for naught but at least Elenwen hadn't overheard. Tullius turned his head right to see the new figure now before him. It was another Auxiliary donned in the fashion of Imperial scouts and archers. A youthful male Nord, one of the recruits from Solitude to bolster the losses the Fourth Legion had already taken in the field.

_Good, hopefully it'll news from the outside at last._

"Go on then soldier! What is it? What news have the Ravens brought?" Tullius questioned forcefully.

"No Raven sir... it's well, I think you need to see this yourself sir."

The general's look turned draconian at the mere suggestion but to the young Nord's credit he didn't flinch at the sight.

"Divines take me! Fine, show me!"

With a swift salute Tullius was ushered from the Imperial Castle Dour onto the battlements. The pair continued their march upon the crowded walls of Solitude before they had reached the Gate of Kintyra, Uriel's gate was now in sight. That's when the General's forbearance grew ever so thin. He had seen nothing or heard anything as of yet.

"Now what is this news that's so important soldier?" Valens inquired impatiently.

The young Auxiliary merely pointed towards the direction of Uriel's gate and the outer battlements, before finally answering the General with an almost inaudible whisper, one encased with a chilled reverence. His voice appeared near prayer-like in its intonation. Tullius noticed the same of the archers about him. Many had taken their helms off and were simply staring ahead in unabashed awe.

"She's here...just like..."

Tullius knew who he meant then. The torches along the ramparts lit up her almost ethereal beauty. The reflected light from her Ebony armour which she bore shimmered gracefully and regally all about and around her, despite the hour of night.

_Talia Indoril. The Dragonborn, by the Divines..._

It wasn't just Talia however that his Imperial Legionnaires were staring unceremoniously at. The massive figure behind her was what held the majority of their attention.

"It's... a Dragon. A _red_ Dragon..." He heard himself say.

"The jewel of the Imperial Crown... just like... Tiber Septim."

_Thank you Talos, Thank you._

* * *

_**Authors notes:**_

_1. Dragon language translation... the majority of the words are uttered soon after the Draconian words however some are not. The translation of the sentence spoken by Odahviing before Talia drifted into sleep is below. As well as a few other words not translated by the Dovah._

_Praan. Revaksaviik ahrk Thuri Briinah. Kiin do Bormah Akatosh. Praan. (Rest. Sacred saviour and Overlord sister. Child of father Akatosh. Rest.)_

_Julahrk Fahliil. (Man and Elf.)_

_Daar Strunlahvu (This Storm army.)_

_2. Dawnstar is in Imperial hands and Falkreath is Stormcloak controlled in this storyline as the ceasefire compromise had the two interchanged. Talia killed Alduin without jumping into the civil war despite her apparent Imperial leanings, therefore the events of the conflict happened without her involvement. Such is the case with the Emperors assassination also._

_3. In regards to the Mede dynasty, the lore says Vittoria Vici is the Emperors cousin. I have made them first cousins, therefore making Vittoria's mother Alexia the aunt of Titus Mede II and the daughter of the previous Emperor who I've named as Attrebus Mede the third. I figure the succession laws would be the same as that of the Septim dynasty and is therefore absolute Cognatic Primogeniture, i.e. Eldest inherits regardless of gender. _


	2. Red Dragons, Black Hands

_**Authors notes:**_

_**Thank you kindly to all those who have already reviewed. Just for your information this story will be long, much like my previous piece of work, which I am also still working on.**_

_**Anyway if you have questions about certain plot segments than just ask. As always reviews are welcome, both positive and negative (if constructive.)**_

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Red Dragons, Black Hands**_

_Oh and so, the Jarl did doth weep,_

_For his only daughter did the Dunmeri lad seek,_

"_Vile Elf"_ _said he, "of skin most grey, _

_I'll flay you alive if I see thee this day."_

_But the Jarl never did and his heart was most torn,_

"_I wish she'd have died, that she'd have never been born."_

_Afflicted with grief, from the loss of his maid,_

_The old Bear did roar at the price he had paid._

"_And now my child wanders, around with this elf,_

_without protection or escort or concern for herself."_

_Talos be praised, for protect her did he,_

_She made it to Cyrodiil and it's Imperial see_

"_The years are now stricken and laden with woe,_

_My daughter is lost, my life at a new low."_

_Worry the Jarl did for years that would mount,_

_before Arkay appeared at his final account._

"_Tell her I'm sorry, my kindred most fair,_

_for she was my daughter and I always did care."_

_And so a New Bear rose, in the place of the Old,_

_Upon the marches of Skyrim, with it's winter so cold._

"_My sister is gone now, that elf loving whore,_

_her elopement did shame us, she has a place here no more."_

_Yet the new Bear was mistaken, for their love was most true,_

_A union now sacred, that sprang forth from these two._

_It was their passion most dear, that would help save this fair realm,_

_For this is the tale of Indoril and the maiden of Windhelm._

_**- From "The Maiden of Windhelm. An uncensored affair." by Talsgar the Wanderer.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Uriel's Gate.**_

To say that Talia was thankfully of the time of night would have been an understatement. She'd seen the many Ballastae upon the battlements only after descending off of Odahviing's back. At any other time with sufficient enough light the Dovah and she would have been knocked out of the sky. And the last Talia checked... she couldn't fly.

The Elder Dragon had perched himself upon a portion of the southern ramparts that connected the paired gates of Uriel and Kintyra. It was only her presence that stopped the inevitable arrow-storm that would have hit Odahviing otherwise.

_But if they hadn't of seen me..._ Talia perished the mere thought of what could have happened. She was partial to her life and becoming a pin-cushion for quarrel's wasn't in her list of aspirations.

The Crimson Dovah appeared to have donned an almost cautious gaze. His serpentine neck and head arced slowly back and forth. Continuously glancing at the many Imperial archers surrounding the twosome.

_"____Pogaan Ronaaz arhk Ronaan, _Many arrows and archers. I am surprised they only hit me thrice ___Dovahkiin.__" _

Odahviing's words took her aback somewhat. ___They hit him? They actually fired? _She questioned the Dovah over the rather startling statement.

"They hit you?" ___They could have hit me!_

_"____Geh. Nust Drey Ni Ahraan." _Odahviing replied in his own tongue. One in which Talia was still hardly an expert in.

"Yes? Right, I got that part, what does the rest mean?" She queried confusingly.

"Ah again forgive me _Thuri_. They did not wound me or pierce my scales. An annoyance no more _Dovahkiin_, these archers need not fear unless they try again. Now I will wait here if you wish it."

"Thank you. I'll be back." Talia said, before promptly turning her attention to the crowded battlements once more.

The walls were amass with Imperial soldiery. Yet all appeared to be standing motionless. Talia also began to notice the seemingly uniformed stares of the Legionnaire archers as well as Solitude's own standing men at arms.

Throngs of troops were looking towards her direction, looking at _her_. It made Talia feel immensely uncomfortable and uneasy. All those around her had also lowered their bows and many more had begun to remove their helms and caps, which were now being fiercely held besides their armoured chests.

Ignoring the numerous gazes beaming down upon her, Talia approached the closest archer to her position and beckoned politely towards him.

"Excuse me soldier but where is General Tulius, I have urgent news that the Empire most know."

The reply back was that of mumbled silence, which came also from the entirety of archers that heard her questioning. Talia repeated herself adding force into her voice.

"Where is General Tulius? Anyone? What of your commanding officer?"

Her answer, finally came from behind. The accent was Cyrodiilic, akin to that of citizens from the Imperial city. Much like Talia's own.

"Tribune Lucan Vernius, at your service... Dragonborn."

She turned to meet the male in question, immediately spotting how suspiciously he was eyeing the winged creature not more than five metres from their position. There was fear in the Tribune's features but also a sense of wonderment and awe too.

"Your er... your Dragon. It'll not pose a problem to my men will it?" Vernius asked. The quivering that accompanied his voice however was minimal despite the rather inauspicious circumstances the Tribune probably felt himself in.

___There's a Dragon behind him and behind Odahviing is an army that wants his head on a spike..._

When her answer came, it was stated with realistic honesty. Something that was few and far between these days.

"No Tribune. No, Odahviing won't be a problem _unless _someone decides to make a problem with him."

"Ah... _Odahviing_ is it? Right then. Good. Well I'll make sure that there'll be no problems at all Dragonborn. You have my word." Vernius stated calmly and with sincere conviction. The fear of moments past had disappeared from his voice almost entirely.

Yet the Tribune and most others always calling her _Dragonborn _was becoming immensely vexing.

_I have a name. Someone use it!_

"Please, my name is-"

"Talia Indoril! By the...eight. Some good news at last."

Again she turned, pinpointing the new person that had just spoken. The accent was again Cyrodiilic, with a greater Nibenese slant than Tribune Vernius. Talia of course, immediately knew the figure now before her.

Grey matte hair in the Imperial style topped the males head. This contrasted widely with his bronze tanned visage. Bronze too made up his Legionnaire armour. Which was decorated finely with golden flourishes and emblazoned with the Empire's undying symbol_._

"General Tulius. An honour to meet you again. You'll have to thank the _eight_ indeed for seeing me alive." Talia replied, cordially and with a hint of jest. _We all know it's Nine, yet all have to play the part for a time._

"I bring news from..." She paused momentarily, knowing full well how preposterous her next words would sound. "...from Sovngarde. Alduin has been defeated."

Rather than laughter and the sounds of mirth that she believed would come at the suggestion she'd been to Sovngarde _and_ returned. Talia heard only gasps of surprise and shock. Next came an almost collective rumbling of murmured words all about her.

_Not just words... Prayers._

"...Come, come lass. We can talk at Castle Dour _in private_." The general replied.

He'd heard the voices too, it was plain upon his face. She answered him promptly despite the rising utterances. Talia wished to remove herself from this current prominence quickly and without hesitation. Following Tulius was the easiest way to do such a thing.

"Yes, yes of course. Thank you."

The walk towards Solitudes fortress left her feeling no better. Eyes everywhere looked upon her still in sense of wonder and silent reverence. Some Auxiliaries even bowed gently when she passed by, with a handful even uttering hollowed words that were now illegal in the Empire.

_'Thanks be to Talos. Guide us Dragonborn.'_

Remembering the welcome of the Greybread's, Talia brought their comments into a sphere of understanding, something which she'd failed to see properly in the past. It appeared Talia would indeed have to _harken _to this new vestige of renown...

It wasn't before long when General Tulius and she finally arrived at Castle Dour. The fortification was nestled along the north-western perimeter of the city. With it being partially built upon the slopes of the Kilkreath mountains, it gave Solitude's defenders a great advantage against potential foes.

The portcullis of Dour's terraced western entrance were also firmly shut and vigorously guarded, judging by the sight before her upon the battlements. No doubt the eastern entryway was also in lock-down. The danger of potential sabotage or infiltration by possible Stormcloak aligned citizens appeared to be a distinctive threat.

_Martial law..._

Events had deteriorated immensely since Talia's departure and return from Sovngarde. Upon leaving, she'd left a Skyrim under an uneasy ceasefire...

_It's like everyone failed to heed the words of Esbern and me. Stupidity! Brother against brother, father against son and for what? Ulfric's own quest for power and the crown. Does he truly care for Talos? For Skyrim?  
_

"Now we can talk Talia."

General Tulius' voice rocked her out of her own thoughts and musings.

She'd simply followed the Imperial after reaching Castle Dour's bastion and failed to noticed exactly where she was being escorted too. Unless Talia had forgotten the layout of the Castles Imperial Headquarters, she immediately realised the room she was now standing in wasn't it.

"Where are we?" Talia enquired uncertainly.

"The Emperors tower. I'll have no prying Altmeri eyes or ears this time. Those Oblivion damned Thalmor need permission to step foot in here. I've not given it to them and by Talos I never will."

The general stated, knowing full well his statement would have officially been considered heretical and in complete violation of the White-Gold Concordat. Yet it wasn't that which soon demanded Talia's thoughts, it was her location.

_I'm in the Emperors tower... Last I hear he was coming to Skyrim! _She gasped unorthodoxly at both thoughts. Her reply came out in a mix of surprise, astonishment and nervousness.

_Has he brought me to see the Emperor himself?_ _By the nine! I'm to see the Emperor!_

"Is the Emperor here? Am I to meet him... now? Dressed like this?" Her shock and overt anxiety was almost tangible. Talia was bruised, bloodied and attired for war, she was in no fit state of dress to address his Imperial majesty.

The Ebony armour she bore was coated in a dried, crusted dark crimson which had come from the many wounds she'd inflicted upon Alduin. Her own blood was beneath her vestments, thankfully now clotted due to an inordinate amount of alchemical salves. Talia's injuries were another reason for her ill-preparedness to meet the Emperor...

...Yet almost immediately, she noticed something was terribly wrong when General Tulius' features darkened. Anger, pain and grief sprang forth at once after her multiple queries ceased.

"You don't know?" Tulius simply asked, attempting to hide his emotions.

"I... no. What is it? What's happened?" She questioned innocently, Talia was unable to fathom any other possible reason for the change in Tulius' mood, apart from one...

_No..._

"The Emperor's dead. Assassinated on my watch. Then to top it all off Ulfric's damned rebels take Whiterun and Markarth in mere days. I... we failed him." The general stated mournfully. Hurt was interwoven still within his voice. Grief and guilt too was wrapped around each and every word.

_Dear Gods!_ _ It can't be true..._

Her mood at once changed with the revelation, it couldn't be just a coincidence.

_Ulfric you couldn't have, to kill the Emperor..._

"Was it Ulfric and his... _Stormcloak's_? They did this?" Talia queried with an unmistakable amount of disdain. She began to feel her latent fury and anger rising at the thought one of her own kindred doing such a thing. It was an affront to the legacy of Clan Stormcloak...

Talia couldn't believe it, wouldn't accept such a possibility. A once proud and regal family, the most prominent noble House of Windhelm and Eastmarch had been thrown headlong into revolt and rebellion through Ulfric's actions, yet to add high treason _and_ regicide to the list was something even Talia couldn't comprehend.

_Mara have mercy. My mother would be turning in her grave... _

She waited for the eventual answer, bracing herself for the awful truth. Yet when it came Tulius' comment wasn't anything she'd expected or considered. Talia actual left somewhat relived upon hearing it. Yet the relief lasted but a few moments.

"Even Ulfric has some honour. No he didn't order this. Someone else gave the command and something else murdered him."

* * *

_"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear."_

_**- The Black Sacrament**_

_**The Pale: Dawnstar. Windpeak Inn and tavern.**_

_Breton, another female. Left handed. Blonde hair, medium length. Pretty too._

_Is that a Dwemeri dagger? A good weapon... for a murderer._

_Two mugs of mead at last count. She'll be sober enough... hopefully her conscience will be too._

"Hello miss, can I get you anything else before last orders?"

_A quarrel in your back would be nice. _

The enquiry came from a pretty faced Nordic woman, yet despite the irritating interruption, Laenafil simply smiled gracefully, whilst shaking her head.

"No, no thank you. I'll be leaving shortly." With that the female simply departed towards what ever it was waitresses did, apart from test her rather modest patience.

It was a few moments later before her mark finally decided to depart, Laenafil remained seated to sup the remnants of her wine before continuing. She knew were the Breton lived after all.

"_Ah silent killer, Child of darkness. I see you've remembered an old Speakers words too. Sithis wants this Breton. Her initiation will be most sweet... and most honoured. To have the Listener herself render the invitation, it will be almost... euphoric." _

The words came from within Laenafil's own self, yet she knew they were someone else's. At present a bonded spectral guardian, yet in life he was an assassin of infamous renown. Unfortunately slain before her grandfathers time. His voice's simply rapturous notes were heard solely by her own Bosmeri ears. Only the Night Mother's caressing embrace was as cold and loving as his.

_She'll fit in well. I can see. So do I wait until she's at rest? _

Laenafil queried the Spectre's inner voice. This was her first recruitment, her trusted Redguard Nazir had been made Speaker due to necessity but she had decided to do her part in rebuilding also, yet she knew it would be a monumental undertaking...

"_The Brotherhood will always endure even in these trying times. Like the void itself. Now dear child, I would urge you to wait. When she is soundly asleep and fearless of all things. That would be the most opportune time."_

Laenafil took the advice to heart, which removed some of the anxiety from this virgin prospect as well as from the precarious position the Dark Brotherhood now found itself in.

_All things must die; except the Dark Brotherhood. For the spectre of death is infinite. _She smiled at her own assessment.

Their numbers were at merely five since the destruction of the Falkreath's Sanctuary and vile Astrid's abominable betrayal.

Nazir, herself, as well as the Keeper of the Brotherhood Cicero. Despite his loosened concept of reality the Imperial was a loyal brother to darkness, the void and the Night mother most of all.

An ancient Breton was also amongst them. A child who had been given the blessing of Vampirism at the age of nine brought their modest number to four.

Whilst Nazir's first Initiate to have been given the sweet mother's caress named himself as Endryn Sarys, a Dunmer from the virulent slums of Windhelm's Grey quarter. Sarys had been invaluable in Nazir's own mission within ancient Markarth.

The black Sacrament had been conducted and the sweet mother had heard. Igmund Karth-stone the Jarl of the mountain shrouded city was to die. It was for the Speaker and his Initiate to also make the Forsworn of the Reach appear responsible. Both objectives were easily accomplished to their contact's desire.

_We acquired their Silver and they, Igmund's blood. A fair bargain._

The female Laenafil now stalked was a prospective six member to this renewed family and if the Breton was a skilled as their new Dunmeri Initiate then the Brotherhood would quickly rise once more.

For it was Astrid's foolishness and treason that had nearly damned it. They had nearly brought the Empire to its knees... _before_ the final kill.

Veezara, agile, elusive and cunning had put the ageing and despondent Alexia Vici out of her misery mere hours after her eldest daughter had found out that solitary Gargoyle's despised rosy white weddings.

The graceful and seductive Gabriella two days before this upon the 25th of Evening Star had taken the life's of three of the Emperor Mede's progeny. It had been the festival of New life. A time for parties, the giving and also the receiving of presents and gifts, both large and small.

_The gift of death is the most precious of all. _

Their lives had been taken in the Northern Cyrodiilic city of Bruma. It had been quick, painless and silent the Dunmeri assassin had informed her reverently and with a sense of accomplishment.

_Some deserve pain, some do not. Gabriella did not deserve it, neither did Veezara and all the others._

_Astrid deserved it. So to did Maro and every other Imperial I slaughtered then and in the future. The Empire will rue the day they hurt my family..._

Those five deaths had paved the way for Laenafil's second assignment upon Mede's arrival in Skyrim, after his three week voyage from Anvil to Solitude.

The 6th of Morning Star. The day Emperor Titus Mede the second _should_ have been brought dragging into the void...

"_Now, now child. Do not worry so much over things that have already come to pass. He is dead. As the dread father wished. You made it so."_

Her self-doubt was again quashed but the passion for vengeance still remained. The Empire had taken her family, she was going to do the same, soldier by soldier, general by general.

"_Is this the Night mothers calling or your own? Do your past loyalties still hold true? Thalmor was it, an old name... even in my time. That was Astrid's folly. Thinking herself more important than the Night mother. Only Sithis himself can claim that. Be wary of your road Listener."_

"Quiet phantom!" Laenafil shouted aloud, drawing bemused stares from the patrons of Windpeak that remained. Annoyed at her own outburst the Bosmer quickly departed the Inn and immediately noticed how eerie the silence was upon her mind.

_Fine, be that way Spectre. I'll handle this myself._

The Breton's residency resided upon Dawnstar's waterfront, an alcove upon the Sea of Ghosts that a spawned a thriving Nordic port. Numerous dwellings lined the coastline, while stores of all assortments dotted themselves sporadically in between. All were of course closed now.

Thankfully the vast host of the Empire lay camped upon the cities outskirts and only the settlements own guards patrolled during its twilight hours. The female Breton's house was upon the northern tip of Dawnstar, flanked by many others similarly. Each and every home held a thatched roof that kept the warmth in exceptionally well.

_It won't stop the cold embrace from entering however._

The darkness of night made Laenafil's job effortless. The Bosmer blended easily into the shrouded obsidian shadows of eventide, despite her casual dark carmine attire and dress. She'd chosen the outfit for the sole purpose of blending in. A set of shrouded crimson and sable armour would have obviously been noticed at once in the Imperial stronghold.

Laenafil choose the back door for entry, using the dwellings own dark shade's as her ally. Manipulating it's lock required little time or effort and she wasted even less in opening her new found entrance.

The dwelling was modestly decorated and also bathed in darkness. Lamps upon the walls had been blown out, as had the innumerate amount of candles upon the spare furnishings. The Breton's bed was merely metres from Laenafil, for most of Dawnstar's residence's were homely and small. Only one thing was missing...

"Make one move elf and I'll turn your bones into ash!"

_She's not asleep..._

The veritable sound of enkindled fire soon touched Laenafil's elven ears as light from behind her also lit up the modest room.

"Now thief, you picked the wrong house to rob. I'm far more dangerous than some common fishwife. Did you think me an easy mark?"

_She talks too much. That'll have to change. _

"You speak of things that you no nothing about. A thief dressed in fine linens? And if I wanted you dead I'd have killed you in that tavern you've just frequented. A drop of Nightshade in your two flagons of Black-Briar mead would have ended your life quickly Yvara Renault." Laenafil stated both calmly and unwaveringly.

She'd be able to kill this Breton easily, despite the looming threat of magicka at her back. That was not the reason Laenafil was here though. It was not the outcome the sweet mother wished either.

_May Sithis guide my hand and may the Night mother watch over me._

The Breton girl thankfully failed to respond nor did Laenafil hear any drastic movements.

_Silence. She's intrigued, good._

"Have you not figured it out already miss Renault? Or does the innocent blood on your blade still fever your vision and dreams. Darkness is before you and she wishes a parley."

"Who are you?" Was her only reply.

"Why I am the Listener to the sweet mother of night and the herald of life and death, but it is not death that seeks you. No, no. I am here for your ability to take life."

Again the Breton failed to respond. Only the regular crackling of flames that still enveloped her fingers gave any answer to her statement. Laenafil continued once more.

"Have you not heard of us? The Dark Brotherhood? I am here to render an invitation. You do not need to speak. Only listen." Laenafil paused momentarily, yet Renault still held onto the trappings of silence.

"There is man. Who passes his time in a lonely, isolated inn on the highway between Dawnstar and Winterhold. The Nightgate. An apt name, for it will be your entrance into darkness. His name is Fultheim, once a Nord of great ability with the _blade_, he now drinks himself into Oblivion. Kill him and when he is dead, I will see you again. Don't and you'll never see me again, it is that simple."

Laenafil turned cautiously after her monologue ceased and finally gazed upon the Breton now in front of her. The igneous flames that danced about her right hand shrank slowly into near nothingness, whilst her left hand which held a Dwemer blade also dropped to her side. Darkness again descended upon the once illuminated room.

"Why does it have to be him?" Renault curiously asked, still with hint of caution.

_Why him indeed..._

"Because someone wishes the old fool dead and he's made some powerful enemies in his time."

_Very powerful._

"I'll... think about it." The Breton stated almost casually.

Laenafil smiled gently at the comment and then finally took her leave, watching the female apprehensively as she stepped once more into the back alleys of Dawnstar. Yet again the apex of twilight enveloped her. There were no goodbyes or other departing words uttered between them.

When the Bosmer exited the building, she finally noticed how her heart was beating more so than usual. Her palms were also dripping furiously with sweat as was her face. She couldn't even blame it on the sudden intense heat of Yvara's Pyromancy. No, Laenafil had to own the events what had occurred then.

_That was a near disaster!_

_It was stupid and foolish of me too. Only my tongue got me out of there without a scratch and kept that Breton alive too! I should stick to assassinations..._

_...Night mother forgive my arrogance._

In her half hour journey back to Dawnstar's sanctuary she'd have to contemplate that close failure.

"_You have much to learn Listener, much to learn. The Night mother watched over you then. Don't make a habit of it."_

_I know spectre, I know._

"_Please, call me Lachance, child."_

* * *

_**Authors notes:**_

_1. Thankfully because of the fact it was night-time in Solitude upon Talia's arrival, she wasn't shot out of the air. It would have been a very short story otherwise. Of course our Dragonborn could have used the Become Ethereal shout. Insta-survival mode.  
_

_2. The destruction of Falkreath Sanctuary would have happened on the night of the 6th and early morning of the 7th in the month of Morning Star. It's a good job Laenafil has the fastest horse in Tamriel to get from place to place._

_3. Markarth to Dawnstar according to the map I found on google (Thanks goes to the persons who made that.) is about 210 miles. Which would take a horse going 17 mph (at a canter), exactly 12 hours 21 minutes and 10.58 seconds if the speed was constant (which it wouldn't be). Add rest to that for both the riders (Nazir and Endryn_) _and horses it would have taken the pair about a day to reach Markarth. Which gave them two days to assassinate Jarl Igmund. Of course... the fact someone deliberately opened Cidhna mine at the same time made the affair much easier..._

_4. I'm sure everyone has done this in either a DB or thieves guild quest-line in either Oblivion or Skyrim. Sneaking into a house at midnight believing the residents to be asleep yet somehow because of the AI they aren't. Grrr! Schoolgirl error on our Bosmer Listeners part.  
_

_5. Fultheim. A Nord with an Akaviri Katana... I wonder...  
_


	3. Of Gods and Jarls

_**Authors notes:**_

_**Lisa: **as your anon, I can't PM you unfortunately. However I am extremely grateful for the review. :) I'm glad you enjoy what little I uploaded of the story so far. Do not worry, I plan on continuing this. I just switch my time between this and Shades of Steel. So my creativity has two avenues to venture rather than one. Again thank you for the review!_

_**Story stuff.**_

_**Point of clarification. As the Empire has 'Legions' I am using the model of the Roman Empire (obviously) but this also includes its numbering system and its rank file and structure. Unless of course its already put into lore (The ranks in Skyrim). **_

_**Therefore an Imperial Legion typically has 5,000 men in it. In this there are ten cohorts each with 480 men (not including officers, restoration mages, battlemage's etc.). In each cohort; three maniple's, which is further broken into two centuries of 80 men (Not like the 100 the name suggests). Then including extra staff in the cohorts, centuries etc. The number goes to 500.**_

_**Note also that the beginning events of Skyrim are slightly different or at least the reason for the Dragonborn being in Skyrim is clearer. All will be told in time.**_

_**Also there is quite... abit of Dragon Language in the later section. (for reasons that will become obvious) many of the translations are in the text. Some however are in my ending authors notes. Just a heads up for you all.**_

* * *

_**Chapter three: Of Gods and Jarls.**_

_"Maw unleashing razor snow, Of dragons from the blue brought down, Births the walking winter's woe, The High king in his Jagged Crown."_

_An old verse, from an ancient time. _

_And like all prophecies, they are fickle beasts to those foolish few that wish to both understand and interpret them. A double edged sword to any that wish them to come to pass through actions of their own. The Elder Scrolls have it written already, only those blessed by Akatosh, Lord of time can change it. All others are guaranteed to fail and die._

**_- From "The Lost histories of Tamriel. 3n__d__ Edition." by Prior Uriel Indorilius of the Order of Talos and Talia. Weynon Priory. Veritable Grand uncle of his Imperial Majesty Casimir, the first of his name. By the Divine, Emperor of Tamriel, King of Pyandonea and New Septimia, Lord Paramount of the Akaviri Marches and Defender of the Ten._**

_**Haarfingar Hold: Outside of Solitude: Stormcloak's siege camp. **_

Most news had been a divine blessing of late.

It was as if Talos himself had appeared to strike down Ulfric's foes. Whiterun had fallen with minimal loss of life. Vignar Grey-Mane now held the Jarldom for his Stormcloak's and the stout old Nord's loyalty was absolute. The wealthy Silver-blood's too had also toppled the treacherous turn-cloak Igmund Karth-Stone off of his mountain throne.

_Whiterun and Markarth under it's true rulers. Talos be praised, we shall win this war soon enough._

With the rumours of the Cyrodiilic Emperors death, morale had been at an all time high.

Even so there had been setbacks, Ulfric's first assault upon the outer gate of Solitude the previous afternoon had left many true sons and daughters of Skyrim dead and venturing at the last onwards to Sovngarde. Many more still had been injured severely and his Battle-maiden's had struggled to cope under the strain of numbers of the wounded. Unlike Markarth or Whiterun, the Jarl's army would be bloodied upon the fortifications of his own countries Capital. More Nord's would die, those following the righteous path and those too who had stayed loyal to an Empire that no longer deserved such loyalty.

_Men follow because they must or because they see no other option, I made my stand for the same reason. They are wrong but who am I to judge?_

Morning had finally arrived, ushering in a new day. Yet Ulfric's pavilion in the centre of the Stormcloak camp was already a hive of life and movement. Couriers went to and throw informing his Storm-blades of occurrences from elsewhere in the field. Battle reports from Morthal and the marshes of the Hjaal had coloured the majority of tidings from sunrise onwards.

The Jarl of Windhelm had been up for two hours already, yet dawn had only just begun to break the shrouded darkness of night. The skies Ulfric noticed were also cloudless, only cerulean blue lay above him for miles above and around. Kyne must have seen fit it to clear her domain for the battles that would take place today. It appeared to be a good omen.

Satisfied of that fact he re-entered his command tent, at once noticing Galmar. His stalwart friend and comrade was patiently waiting. He knew not to disruptive Ulfric's morning reflection, unless he brought news of the direst import. With a regular sense of informality Ulfric waved Galmar towards him, whilst smiling candidly at seeing his old friend alive and well in spite of all the death around them both.

"Ah Galmar, again you are up early friend. Is it Hjaalmarch again? I hear Morthal still holds out, the Crone has yet to see sense and surrender?"

"Sorry Ulfric I hoped to have better news but your right. The damned sorceress still makes a stand, as too does her city despite our numbers."

So it was true then. The Jarl of Morthal had refused Ulfric's overtures of surrender. Ravencrone, it was rumoured, could see glimpses of the future in dreams and visions sent by the nine Divines themselves. So surely she could see the tide was changing, his forces had the momentum and soon Solitude would be theirs also.

Yet still the Witch, despite her numeric inferiority held out, using hit and run tactics upon Arrald Frozen-Hearts units. Military doctrines which the Jarl's Stormcloaks also exploited to great effect were now being used against them. They'd indeed taken their toll in Hjaalmarch. It's fens, bogs and innumerable wetlands were apt terrain for ambushes, traps and feints.

"Hmmm no matter. When Solitude is ours, she'll bend the knee. If not she'll lose her head." Ulfric stated matter of factly. The same had happened to Whiterun's Jarl, it would be the same too for her. Galmar spoke soon after he himself ceased. His battle-hardened and trusted Nord companion always made his perspective clear, and his views had failed to change since the rebellion had begun.

"Good, good. Just like Balgruuf. He made his bed when he refused to open his gates. His head rolling on the floors of Dragonsreach was more an honour than he deserved."

Irritation briefly crossed Ulfric's feature at the statement. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater may have refused the privilege of merely yielding his city but he too fought like a true Nord. One who had also refused to allow an Imperial presence into his Hold.

_Perhaps in time, he would have seen reason..._

_No_, the time of course had already come and gone. Balgruuf had ample enough time to make a decision, yet declined each and every opportunity, even when Ulfric's army was upon his ruined battlements and fighting in Whiterun's own crowded streets.

_May he find peace in Sovngarde._

In spite of Ulfric Stormcloak's annoyance with his trusted friends belief, he refused to show it. Galmar spoke honestly and said the words that he believed were true. He couldn't fault the man for that.

"Ulfric? I know that look. Your troubled."

_Heh! Friends always find out more than any others would._

"It's nothing Galmar, nothing. I was just thinking of Balgruuf, he fought valiantly. True he became our enemy and by the Nine, I disliked the man, but still... I hope he finds a place in Sovngarde."

His second in command nodded respectfully at his statement before replying.

"You are more forgiving than I friend. Yet he was a Nord like us. Shor will always find a place for his children in the afterlife."

Ulfric knew Galmar long enough to realise their views were sometimes different, yet they never judged each other, for their core principles remained constant, unchanged and true to Skyrim and Talos most of all.

"Now Galmar, I'll see my honoured men and women now. Care to join me for an inspection? And a bit of fresh air?"

His dear friend, gruff as ever nodded his head in affirmative. Ulfric was thankful for that, Galmar had a better eyes for some things than he did and his chief lieutenant would no doubt catch things the Jarl may have missed by himself.

Upon exiting his command tent for a second time, the Jarl of Windhelm noticed the new dawn about him once more. The sun, despite being low upon the horizon still warmed his bare skin within a few instances. Ulfric also noticed the encroaching reddish orange hue upon the surrounding azure sky. It had been the first time he'd viewed such a display in many months. The spectacle in itself appeared dazzling as well as beautiful. The nine Divines truly brought magnificence to all the objects they'd touched. No Dragons, no Thalmor and no Empire could ruin it.

"It's beautiful isn't it Galmar? The sunrise I mean. It'll mark the start of something great." Ulfric commented sincerely.

"Thinking of retiring Ulfric? But I'm sure the job of High King is for life and a long life may it be as well."

The Jarl chuckled at that, letting out a snort of laughter. A sound that was severely lacking in these times.

"Do you want the crown old friend? I suppose your heads big enough already though." Ulfric retorted whilst chuckling still from the previous comment.

"Ha ha ha! Now that would be a sight. Galmar Stone-fist, High King of Skyrim! By the Gods, I'd hate it." his wizened comrade paused momentarily then, turning his once humorous mood into something serious again.

"Your the one who'll wear the crown Ulfric Stormcloak. The first High King of a free Independent Skyrim in over an age. A country were we are free to worship whomever. One also that doesn't lie down to those bastard Thalmor and their ilk. I'll be here helping you every step of the way too."

_A true friend..._

Still the talk of crowns and High kings were still a ways off. Solitude would first need to be taken, followed by Morthal and finally Dawnstar were Ulfric knew the majority of the Imperial fourth Legion lay. Regrouping and consolidating their grip upon the Pale and northern Hjaalmarch.

But it was here at Solitude were the war would be won. Subconsciously he looked in her direction. Skyrim's modern Capital and it's largest city, it was truly a sight to behold even at Ulfric's distance of just over a mile away. The Kilkreath mountains dwarfed the settlement. It appeared that it's highest peak Alleinreath stood sentinel above the city, cradling it as if a babe in arms. It was there he noticed the ashen clouds above. An ill pallid light gray, moving southwards at a pace he'd never quite seen before.

"Don't worry Ulfric, she'll be ours soon enough. A bit of the white stuff won't stop us." Galmar said encouragingly.

"I have no doubt of that, yet those clouds coming from the north...it's brought a chill to my bones already."

It was then Ulfric heard it. An unmistakable sound. One that briefly pierced his ears and sent the attention of everyone in the Stormcloak encampment to Solitude and the north.

"A dragon... Gods. It's flying with the storm." His steadfast comrade uttered with a hint of fear.

"Galmar, send word to the Storm-blades, everyone who can use a bow is to get one. Now!"

Ulfric stopped briefly to catch his own breath then and began looking about the encampment to all the true Nord's around him. Many were still staring haplessly at the coming tempest.

"Sons and daughters of Skyrim. To the skies! Gather your quarrels! String your bows! Let us take this beast down!"

Events around him appeared to happen quickly then. Men and women both hurried and panicked in an attempt to equip themselves with arrow, bow or even sling and nearby stone. Many still were waking up from the previous nights rest after the first assault upon Solitude's outer gate failed. Ulfric started on his way back to his own Pavilion in order to grab his grandfathers old longbow _Njordwind,_ an heirloom that had much history yet not none for dealing with such ferocious creatures.

Terror and anxiety was rife within his soldiers now as the snow storm before them simply continuing onwards, with a lonesome Dragon still at it's forefront. The winged serpent, rather than attempting to flee from the rapidly moving northern hoarfrost appeared to be _leading _it onwards.

He stared briefly at the awe inspired spectacle before with in mere seconds the snowstorm hit.

Ulfric's vision disappeared almost at once as a thunderous torrent of snow and frost bombarded his encampment without remorse or end. His sight gave him visions of only a hazed mist of ashen white and frozen winter's blue. The Jarl's respiration's too had become laboured at the sudden decline in temperature, he heaved and coughed at every intake of breath yet the more he did this, the more of the blizzard's chilled air went into his lungs. The cycle continued as his Nordic physiology attempted to adapt to the sudden plummeting temperatures, even so that was trying upon his already wearied body.

Yet in time it succeeded. What appeared to have been minutes past before a semblance of vision returned to him. Ulfric could now see the silhouette of his own tent, as well as that of the many countless others around it. He also saw his own Stormcloaks in a similar situation he'd just been in. Some were heaving on the ground attempted to gather their strength back, others still were trying to help their comrades, yet all were feeling the effects of the glacial conditions about them.

Upon entering his pavilion, Ulfric at once could see clearly. With the flaming hearth still miraculously burning brightly, he felt a tingling heat touch his extremities. Galmar too was there along with many of his loyal and stalwart Storm-blades. It appeared his trusted second and his stout Captains had not the time to inform their men around the capacious encampment.

"What's this Ulfric? Is Kyne testing us? The skies were clear only minutes ago and now _this_! We're blind!"

Stone-fist's words hit upon his own musings on the matter. Had Kyne sent the tempest to test their resolute _or_ hasten an unlikely demise? Ulfric couldn't tell, for the minds of the Divine could not be comprehended by mere mortals. They _were_ blind though, grievously so. His sentries ability to see or even hear hostile's approaching their encampment would now probably be near to nil. A sudden sally from the besieged occupants of Solitude would cause severe casualties and could maybe even route his forces.

_Is that it? An Imperial or Thalmor trick? Using Skyrim's own weather against us? And what of that damned Dragon?_

"By Talos! I swear it was leading that snowstorm towards us. Was it Alduin? Did the Dragonborn fail?" One of his Storm-blades inquired fearfully. They were sound questions to which Ulfric had no answers.

_The Dragonborn... _

She hadn't been seen in over a month and many believed her to be dead, some even wished it, including himself. If that were the case and the Dragon they'd all seen was Alduin the World eater...

"Storm-blades! We need to gather our forces. We need order in our ranks, otherwise the Imperials will cut into us with blades, lance and arrow without pity or sorrow. And if this is Alduin, we need to find him now and take him out of the sky! Come now, let us move!" Ulfric called to each of his men about him. They followed his words without question, making their way back outside. Finally with _Njordwind_ in hand and a quiver of arrows laced upon his back Ulfric too returned to the frozen exterior.

It was then that the Jarl of Windhelm saw him...

...a Dragon of monstrous size directly ahead of his Storm-blades and he.

_It's Alduin..._

"Alduin! Ready your bows!" The Jarl bellowed, whilst also notching a steel tipped arrow upon his longbow. He let loose soon after as did a handful of others around him. The effect appeared minimal however. Simply a growl came forth from the Dragon, followed by a _shout_ that sent his Stormcloaks tumbling onto their backs. The Dovah then spoke as Ulfric returned to his feet once again. In a manner as such that it was apparent he was speaking to someone else.

"_Ronaaz! Nust nin ann mal. _I wish them dead _Thuri."_

The Dovah's query was answered aptly. A voice that he'd heard rarely, yet one that reminded him greatly of his Stormcloak's failed ambush at Dark-water crossing... _the predator became the prey then, not this time._

"No Odahviing! It must be me."

_It's her..._

"Ulfric! The man who's brought shame to Skyrim! Hear me!"

_Merilis Half-elven..._

"I am Talia Merilis of House Indoril and Clan Stormcloak. The heir of my mother as well as my father."

_Cousin..._

"I challenge you to a duel for the shame you brought to her Clan and House, I avow it now in the Old ways of our forefathers. Under Kyne and for my other kin who you defile with your ignorance, for Talos who's name you've taken for your selfish usurpation, may Mara have mercy on you. My claim to Windhelm is strong and true, from my mothers blood and onto her father Ulgar Stormcloak, our grandsire who's bow you now hold. Do you accept? If you do not, the Nine will know you for a coward and a craven. As will your men who follow you now."

_Only death will decide this and a Kinslayer is an abomination by the laws of both Gods and men. But I'm a Jarl and soon. A High King._

"I'm no coward half-elven."

_No coward at all._

"Galmar, my sword!"

That was his answer right there. There could be no other choice in the matter.

* * *

"_When the first frosts fell all those years ago, who would have thought that the day would have become such a blessing. The 30__th__ of Frostfall in the year one hundred and seventy one of the fourth era. It marked the start of the first Great War. Yet it too was the day hollowed Talia, conceived __from the love of both man and mer came to this world."_

_- __**From "A Tenth Divine. The bride of Talos." by Erandur Marvani**_

_****__**Haarfingar Hold: Outside of Solitude: Stormcloak's siege camp. **_

"...my sword!"

_Boziik dilonkodaav. _Odahviing titled this Jarl named Ulfric, a Bold dead bear.

"Be swift _Thuri, _some _Dovah _do not suffer _golt_... the ground long."

Her answer was merely a sideways glance, Odahviing believed she'd understood. If not he'd have taken flight once more_ if_ it were any other mortal, for the ground was not a dragon's place. _Lok, _the sky was his domain.

He waited patiently because the Dovahkiin had commanded. _Strength finds strength, and she is the stronger. Her Shout the most powerful. A true Dovah._

Odahviing would watch too, for now his _Thuri _would take on her own kin as he had in Alduin.

_Sos do ek Sos. _The blood of her blood.

His Thuri and this Nord were joined in kinship from the line of the _kodaav_, however he was no true Bear nor was he a _Dovahkiin._

The human female Odahviing now titled _Thuri_ was both. _Sos do ney Kodaav arhk Dov._

There would be no contest here. The Bold bear's crimson blood would dampen the blanket white ground, his life force dripping away with every mortal heartbeat. It would happen quickly too, Odahviing knew.

The bear was armoured in the skin of fallen lesser creatures, mere prey of the Dov. Hardened leather it appeared to be, with steel plate upon forearms and legs. A Chest Plate of the same metal guarded the _dilonkodaav'_ vital organs from some vestige of harm, it's centre holding the device of a bears head. A trenched coat trimmed with the pepper gray fur of a fallen _kodaav _was donned upon him also.

The dead lay upon him like _Vokun __Tafiir. _A shadow thief, one who bore the image of others. _Nok, _Lies and deceit entombed this _Boziik dilonkodaav _and it would be his deathly shroud.

"May you find your way back to Sovngarde!" the Bold bear roared, lunging while he did so.

His sword was over two lengths longer than such normal blades used by mortals. _Ann Zahkriilot. _A Greatsword, made of deadly sky-forged Steel. Odahviing knew the look, for he'd fought many in the past who wielded such weapons. First _Odkrah Fahliil's_ who'd once created it and then shunned it over the generations, only for Men to take it as their own in it's abandonment.

The bears first lunge scored a deflecting hit upon the shield of his_ Thuri_. An Aegis of Ebony wrought and craft, unlike the one she'd take to Sovngarde and left behind. It matched her armour, which was too made of the robust and potent Volcanic material. Her reaction was effortless, with blade in her right hand Talia swept the Bear's _Zahkriilot_ further away with a parried cut from a golden laced Ebon Longsword. A weapon she handled as skillfully as the _Dovazokaan _Katana the _Thuri_ had used in ending Alduin.

Talia stuck again after that, a reserve-handed hew towards the Bold Bear's midsection. The _Kodaav _blocked it quickly enough yet the force of impact buckled him, sending him back a few paces. The _Dovahkiin _do not relent or delay as she assaulted with further thrusts and strikes from all angles.

One went the low, another high, followed by a second towards the chest. All parried by the Bear. It was clear he was on the defensive, the Boldness had irrevocably gone as his _Thuri'_ onslaught continued.

Her Blade of Obsidian cut through the frozen air like his wing's would when riding upon a snow storms splendid truculence. The Ebony sang, giving itself a _voice _of its own, left and right, up and down. Always to the target, always attacking, striking and hammering with a fury and strength he'd seen in their own fight together. Wounds to the _Dovah's_ neck scales and lower jaw as well as cuts to his wing's membrane could attest to that.

On it went still. Her arm became the blade, moving in unison, thrice, four times, a fifth blow struck, reeling the _Kodaav_ away from his _Thuri _always. Yet every assault the Bear defended staunchly, he had yet to incur an injury of wounding of any sort.

It was then that she stopped.

Her body immobile except for the sight of her still composed breaths rising silently as it hit the chilled air. Shield and blade were held ready, simply _waiting. _Her ethereal white skin shone mournfully, in what little light was returning through the blizzard, a snowstorm one of his making. The _Dovahkiin's_ Raven hair, which blended with her Ebon armour hung loosely upon her shoulder pauldrons. It blew gently in the now calming winds whilst her lightning gray eyes stalked the prey in front of her.

"I will take your yield now if you wish it." The _Thuri_ said, yet no normal voice replied back.

"_FUS RO DAH." Shouted _the Bold bear. Odahviing saw his movements as he rushed headlong to where Talia had been thrown a few feet backwards onto her rear end.

The _Dovahkiin's_ Ebon Sword had sprung from her grasp upon impacting the ground, yet her Aegis remained strapped to her left arm. She raised it to stop the incoming strike coming towards her but her Ebony shield failed to stop the blow. The Greatsword continued its descent before it hit...

...nothing.

A whisper to his Dov ears had come just before it. "_Feim zii gron."_

Yet he had heard. The Bold bear did not and that would be his downfall.

Again and louder this time, came another _shout, _one that he believed only the father Akatosh himself could have voiced.

"_TIID WULD KLO NAH UL KEST." _

The place his _Thuri's_ blade had briefly rested was now naked of it. No sword remained.

She appeared then, moving in a blur of streaming light and Ebony. Only a flash of a motion was at all visible to his eyes and for but a brief moment the assault before him felt in itself eternal. Almost never ending and _immortal. _

_Like a true Dovah._

When his _Thuri_ appeared once more, the Bold bear's head lay next to his body. Dashed upon the crimson coated snow. Blood stricken from his lifeless torso like a stream brought to overflow. The Dovahkiin was metres from the dead _Kodaav. _Her sword held up straight to her right side, making a horizontal line from blade tip to shoulder pauldron. The broken Jarl's blood dripped unceremoniously from it, splattering upon the hoarfrost like torrential rain upon a mellowed river.

Odahviing's saurian eyes darted then to the other men and women about them, to those that had heard the challenge his _Thuri _had sent forth as well as those that had just seen the onslaught and quick death of their beloved leader.

He could see the awe and shock, some had fallen to their knees. The _Dovah _could also smell the fear, their very essence stank of it. Their undefeated ruler lay dead upon the Snow, struck down in a single blow. It was obvious for all to see, even the mere mortals around them. Talia had kept him _alive, _she had wanted to spare him, while else ask for the Bear to yield?

Yet because of his Boldness, he had not. And so, the Jarl of Windhelm had died for it.

"Ulfric Stormcloak is dead. By the Old ways of my mother and her fathers before her. I claim my right."

"Windhelm is mine. All others who deny this truth, may they step forward to challenge me now or forever hold your tongues until we meet again in Sovngarde. May Talos and Arkay both attest this vow."

Silence echoed forlornly but for a single growl of rejection.

"I claim that right! Your no true Nord Dragonborn! No Half-elven slut will sit the throne of Ysgramor!"

Odahviing's sight sprang menacingly then to the challenger. A dirty blonde beard hid his face, whilst the pelt of a bear his hair. It's paws swung limply from shoulder to breast, much like the headless _Kodaav'_ corpse upon the ground.

_Another bear to die._

"_Daar Dovahsebrom fen krii pah hokoran." _

He boomed in his native tongue, sending all to a stand still. This man bear's arrogance was foolish and pointless, his mouth flapped words of little meaning only insults that changed nothing.

The confused expression upon Talia's face however roused his memory that most knew not the language of the _Dov._

He growled and then spoke once more. "This dragon of the north will kill all enemies."

"Even man-bears like you, _bron_. You will die either way. _Niid Krosis. Rek Los Kroniid arhk Krongar. _She is Conqueror and victor. She is _Thuri._"

As the torrential blizzard began to clear, silence again descended upon them but once more it shattered with the voice of the man-bear.

"She is a kinslayer Dragon. An abomination by the laws of Gods and men_._" the bear-man bleated.

"Laws do not apply to Gods_ Bein. _A fool you are."

"ENOUGH! I Galmar Stone-fist challenge this Dunmeri' whelp. I deny her claim, I deny her heritage, I DENY HER!"

"_Bein. _Defeat him quickly _Thuri._"

And she did.

It lasted but a few single heartbeats. With his Axe raised to strike downwards with all his mannish fury, Talia used the wind as her ally once more, whilst her Ebony blade danced in the now sunlit dawn. Four strikes all connecting sent the man-bear down in pieces.

His right arm was splayed in two, from shoulder to elbow and wrist to forearm. A cut ripped open his leather jerkin like Odahviing's own talon's upon a mewing lamb. Stone-fist's life blood sprayed forth from him like a font of unending violence. The final blow stuck his right thigh, splitting tendons, puncturing skin and mail as well as cracking bone. That last impact sent for a muted cry of agony and a thunderous sound as Ebon sliced and ripped marrow, and muscle apart with impunity.

The man-bear flailed upon the floor, as his one remaining arm tried to hold his guts from falling asunder.

"Do. You. Yield?" Talia voiced, her words cacophonous in their overtones.

A meek _yes, _sprang from the man bears lips.

After it had been said, Talia spoke again.

"Battle-maidens! Heal him. He has yielded! Now do any others deny my claim?"

This time, not one uttered a word.

* * *

_Authors notes._

_1. Dragon Language translations._

_Dovazokaan _(Akavir the 'Dragon land') I merged the word 'land' which also means Tamriel with Dovah.

_Ronaaz! Nust nin ann mal. _(Arrows! They sting a little.)

_Boziik-dilonkodaav. _(Bold dead bear.)

_Sos do ek Sos. _(Blood of her Blood.)

_Vokun Tafiir _(Shadow Thief.)

_Ann Zahkriilot _(A Greatsword or a Sword great.)

_Odkrah Fahliil's _(Snow cold elves.)

_Feim zii gron _(Fade spirit bind.) Become Ethereal.

_TIID WULD KLO NAH UL KEST. _(Time, Whirlwind, Sand, Fury, Eternity, Tempest.) Slow time and Whirlwind Tempest.

_Daar Dovahsebrom fen krii pah hokoran. _(This Dragon of the North will kill all enemies.)

_Niid Krosis. Rek Los Kroniid arhk Krongar. _(No Sorrow. She is conqueror and victor.) Victory is Krongrah, going by that, I've made the dragon word victor, Krongar.

_2. Ebony is the Elder Scrolls version of Obsidian or Volcanic glass._


	4. The Good, the Blade and the Ugly

**_Authors notes:_**

_**Lisa: **Thank you once again for your review, I'm extremely glad that you enjoy this story. Doing Odahviing was fun but... quite weird. The question I had to ask myself was 'how does a highly sentient lizard think?' obviously with no answer to that, I had to wing it ;). Odahviing wouldn't mind hehe. Fanfiction was being stupid before with the anon reviews by the way... your first one came up however. I've decided to take the moderate feature off so other ones of yours should turn up straight away :).  
_

**_Everyone else thank you kindly for the reviews. It makes it easier to write (and makes it quicker) when I know a lot of people actual enjoy the story! After all hits on a page mean nothing, if I don't know a persons opinion of what's on said page. _**

**_Also apologises if I haven't PM-ed you in reply to them. My computer dying a few months back basically dropped my writing to zero because of that I didn't reply. Yes, a poor excuse but its the one that's true._**

* * *

_**Chapter Four: The Good, the Blade and the Ugly.**_

_Yet her armies will march. _

_The Imperial's whisper that she is Tiber Septim in female form, _

_Men of all creeds secretly name her the bride of Talos, _

_The Dunmer proclaim her to be the scion of their Nerevarine and heiress to Azura,_

_While the Nord's shout aloud that she is the daughter of Auri-El and the champion of Lorkhan. _

_The death of the Mede's bloodline has changed nothing._

_The Dragonborn comes._

_Signed_

_E_

_(Note to the readers. The author of this letter was the High Elf Elenwen of Lillandril an enemy of the early fifth Empire as well as the late fourth. The E mark is especially telling of the writers identity.)_

_**- From "A history of the Fifth Empire." by Erandur Marvani.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Outside of Solitude: Stormcloak's siege camp. **_

_I killed him... _

She couldn't quite believe it. Yet her cousins body now lay motionless upon the ground, his head stricken from his lifeless body. Snow, grass and dirt all muddied together creating a mingled hue of darkened crimson.

Talia's hands trembled slightly, her heart racing at every beat as it finally sank in.

_The last of my mothers kin dead... because of me. My grandfathers only grandson..._

Uflric's second was too sprawled helpless upon his back, blood dripping from all the wounds she'd inflicted upon him. Galmar was now being treated by some of the Battle-maiden's and all had kept a healthy distance from both her and Odahviing. Yet he would live, he'd be maimed but he would survive if he was treated correctly.

The drum of her hearts song was all that touched her hearing. Talia's final question lingered like a spectre, all had heard it yet none had answered.

"_Now do any others deny my claim?"_

Not a one. No other soul echoed Galmar's ill fated challenge. Uflric's Storm-blades looked death-struck at her then at their fallen Jarl and back again. Yet even they refused to deny her heritage.

"No one?" She reiterated, hiding the guilt written upon her soul.

One of the Storm-blades moved forward servility, his slow ponderous footsteps joining Talia's heartbeats cantered pace. He stopped but a metre from her, his longsword held at the pummel and blade tip.

Then he went down to his knee.

"I do swear my blood and honour to you. Merilis Stormcloak-Indoril, Jarl of Windhelm and true High Queen of Skyrim. As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond, even to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Your sword is my sword. Your enemies are are my enemies, Dragonborn."

The wearied veteran voiced. His words cutting into the silence like a scythe through barley. Her voice croaked momentarily but she answered him soon enough despite the past remembrance of hurt and reluctance.

_My mother never heard those words but...  
_

_...he names me true High Queen too, I.. can't... Elisif... she's to be High Queen. _Talia's thoughts however did not mirror her words.

"...I...I accept it. Rise and tell me your name."

"Calder Winter-Oak. Thane of Windhelm and a Storm-blade of Jarl Ulfric's...yours now my lady."

He rose, then backed away as a further two moved forward, their blades in hand akin to Winter-Oak's. Both then offered their fealty. The dam broke after that, the remaining Storm-blades all bent the knee, giving the same honorific. Their swords and axes in hand all pledging their honour and fealty to her.

The common soldiers followed too.

Fresh unbloodied young men and women, who still smelled of green summer grass. The Ice-veined who fought in the harsh colds and warmed themselves through battle. The veteran Bone-breaker's who smashed their enemies with Mace and axe alike. As well as the towering Snow-Hammers, who's size and strength out did only a few living men and mer, some even believed they had the blood of giants in them. Their War-hammers would sunder foes to the ground and crack their breast plates like an anchor upon thin ice.

_I'm Jarl of Windhelm now..._ yet she felt no different. No better, only worse in fact.

Skyrim still bled, Brother still fought brother. Mothers still wept for lost children and husbands. Fathers roared in grief at outliving their own sons and daughters.

_Cousin kills cousin to end it. Now what do I do?_

But the answer quickly came to her. The suggestion had been tempered by Calder, she'd need only follow through with it.

_The Moot._.. _High Queen._

_I can end this civil war there._

"Calder Winter-Oak. I charge you with the command of this army. Do not attack, I'll ride to Solitude myself and offer General Tullius a ceasefire in exchange for the moot to be called. Talos watch over you." _and me._

_Another ceasefire. This time he'll accept readily. Uflric is dead and I by right of blood, hold his army._

No objection was raised, no point was made in disagreement. Calder simply nodded while the remaining Stormcloaks stared, awestruck at her and the red dragon, the snow winged hunter; Odahviing.

"_Vukein Thuri. _Combat. I sense more of it coming." _Where?_

But he needn't of answered, a war-horn sounded from the north. _An Imperial War-horn._

_Damn it!_

"Calder! Get your men into their defensive formation. Hold your position, I'll deal with the Tullius."

The Imperial General would sally his troops now. It's what she would've done in his place. The Blizzard had changed his tactical assignment, a quick charge from the gates had a great chance of routing the Stormcloak's now.

_This isn't what I wanted! I want an end to it! Not more killing!_

Talia moved to Odahviing, mounting him with less effort than usual, it was getting easier every time for her. She breathed deeply then sighed. This next plan of hers would be as audacious and foolish as the previous.

_Riding a Snowstorm was only half my idea though..._

The Dragon's wing's flapped, sending gusts of freshly fallen snow into the air and around the command section of the encampment, bellowing many of the Stormcloak's with hoarfrost and snow flakes. Then she was up in the skies once more. The Soldiers below turned from men to dwarfs to ants in moments, becoming ever smaller as the Dovah gained altitude.

"Odahviing, follow my directions. I have a plan. I need your _voice _once more. I need fire."

"Yes _Thuri._"

* * *

"_I fear... that I lied. _

_To a friend, it is most cruel. _

_Yet to an Emperor... it is treason. I am sorry for my deception Plitinius. Truly. Humans are all short lived I once told you. I saw his line start, I saw it die... and now I see it revived once more. In some form at least. The Septim's are dead but..._

_My little lie, my precious secret._

_It made sure this world still drew life at the coming of the end._

_Now I am to meet her, a great grandchild of the Nerevarine it is said. Oh that's true, two branches of the same divine blood. I knew him also. _

_An Indoril, one that my Helseth forgot to kill. I knew his father too, pleasant indeed. Very much the charmer... yes, very much. Drayven it was... yes... that was it..._

_But that's another story Plitinius... I'll let you rest a while longer before I tell you._

_Maybe I'll see your grave once more in Mournhold and speak of it in person._

_Solstheim chills my old bones too much. Far, far too much..."_

**- Queen Mother Barenziah, Haalu court in-exile. Solstheim. New Mournhold.**

_**Haarfingar Hold: Outside of Solitude: The Royal Road.**_

"Battle formation! Archers in front!" Tullius ordered, his command now echoing from Legate to Tribune's all the way down to the legionnaires. The warhorn had sounded for their line to stop. They were just under two hundred metres from the foe. His vantage point being clearer as he sat upon an armoured destrier, one Valen had named _Victoria. _

_May she help in this victory too._

The Stormcloaks encampment had been buffeted by a storm of ferocious power, snow had even descended upon the streets of Solitude as it quickly rolled by, it stopped above Ulfric's and his rebels. All he knew was that Magicka had been involved _and_ it had come upon hearing the red dragon's roar.

_The Dragonborn's gone and done it. _

Talia had given them the chance. General Tullius was sick of waiting upon the battlements anyway.

He'd only need take Ulfric down, break his loyalists and the rest would fall in behind Talia being the only living relative of the Jarl.

His fourth legion to a man and woman would stand up better in open battle, no hit and run tactics would whittle them down. They had the advantage and it would only be a few hours before the rest of his Legion would take Ulfric's flank and the rebellion would end when his head fitted a spike.

_I hope. By the nine! Give us strength and give them speed._

He'd emptied the city, leaving only five hundred of their garrison upon the walls. The rest marched with him.

One thousand from the eighths two cohorts, around two thousand five hundred of Jarl Elisif's garrison and what was left of his own legion and the three cohorts that held Solitude.

On parchment it was close enough to five thousand men, the reality was quite different.

The eighth had lost a full century of men whilst the third cohort of his own had lost a full maniple, just over one hundred and sixty legionnaires, all dead upon the walls of Solitude. The cities garrison fared no better. Eight score and fifty casualties dropped their numbers by two hundred and ten.

Four thousand five hundred and fifty sallied forth with him. An amount short of one full legion. Yet it would do the job. Although Nord's were known for their ability to resist the cold north, not even they could fight when both tired and frozen.

"Archers! Nock arrows!" his words repeated, as again his orders filters through the rank and file.

The Legates took charge then, they knew the drill.

"_Draw!" _

His archers did so, a motley array of men, a few mer too, those loyalty to the Empire was unmatched, their hatred of the Thalmor being even greater than his own. Bosmer and Dunmer mostly made up the bulk of the mer contingent in his archers yet a handful of Altmer were in the lines also. They were his best, many Stormcloaks would die under their arrows.

"_Loose!"_

Close to seven hundred arrows ventured forth, flying upwards and forwards akin to a deadly murder of crows. They continued onwards going ever closer, their journey of death close to an end...

...then Fire took them. A bellowing of hellish brimstone charred and burnt the volley from the sky. Their remains falling pitilessly from the heavens above. Barely a handful continued unmolested.

_That's... Talia. Her red Dragon._

The Winged beast veered eastwards, running an analogous flight between his armies formation and the Stormcloaks encampment. Then it reversed itself, now flying westward at a speed unparalleled, fire roared forth from its gaping jaws, sending flames downwards to the ground below. Dragonfire continued to consume the land in front of them and the Stormcloaks, turning the grassy knolls and the stone-paved royal road which ran onwards and through Ulfric's encampment into a place of desolation. He spotted the lone figure upon it. There was no doubt now, Talia was riding it once again.

_A barricade, a wall of fire... what in Oblivions name is she doing?_

The Dragon was turning were the battle would have taken place into a fiery wasteland. Unassailable until the flames died down. Even the paving stones upon the carriageway had shattered and melted under the heat.

_Is this betrayal? Has she joined Ulfric?_

"Nock arrows! Take that blasted Dragon down!" Tullius shouted.

The order didn't go without dissent however. Legate Rikke at his side spoke up then. Her fine courser shaking its mane and head as if in agreement with it's Nord master.

"..but General. That's the Dragonborn, she's loyal. Her father was one of the Emperors best bl-"

"Enough! What would you have me do? Let this dragon burn us all!"

_Draw..._

"No. Speak to her. She would never have joined Ulfric, you know that General!"

_Do I? _He growled and grimaced at her words.

"Hold fast! Hold!" he bellowed yet too late. _Loose... _

"Hold fast I said! Not one more!"

The second volley was closer this time, the many shafts moving towards the likely direction the Dragon would go. The beast would fly into an arrow-storm.

Yet before it did, the creature again twisted, diving downwards. It then arced its neck towards the arrows that would now miss it by many a metre and sent forth a further blast of infernal flames to the steel tipped arrows.

They turned to cinders and ash, as the thunderous words danced upon the northern winds.

"_Yol Toor Shul."_

Another movement then brought the apical predators winged momentum north. To his army. Valen shuddered to think at the damage it'd cause.

_I hope your right Rikke._

"I hope you know what your doing Legate. By the... eight. HOLD FAST!" he ordered again.

The dragon was flying down upon them. Moving towards himself, Legate Rikke and his own mounted escorts. It appeared to hover above them, as if waiting for something.

_Space..._

"Bloody hell! Make way! Give it space."

_This is crazy, its madness. The Demented Duke is having a jape with me._

Yet when his escorts parted, giving room for the creature. It landed gracefully and curled up its wings and tail without a fuss or act of aggression.

"Well, I'll be... In the divines name, you sure as better have a good reason for _that _stunt of yours."

No answer came, not one right away anyway. Talia slipped down from the Dragon. Her Ebon weaponry and armaments lending her visage to that of a dark Obsidian knight. Yet her features appeared celestial as the sun shined upon her pale alabaster skin. The blade was still in hand, her right mailed fingers gripping around its golden laced pummel.

Crimson dripped slowly off of the weapon, small drops splattering harmlessly into the snowed under pavement of the Royal road. Her reply came then. As Valen Tullius wondered at who's blood laced Talia's longsword.

"Yes... I need you to have Elisif call the Moot. Inform the other Jarls too."

He was dumbstruck and but for a moment he couldn't believe his aging ears.

"In Oblivions name no! You'd have the Jarl of Windhelm voted in as High King?"

Talia walked closer to him, every step crunching in the powdered snow, condensing it with each and every footfall.

The Dragonborn was barely two metres away when she spoke again. Her voice came forth full of regret and her eyes stared at him, afflicted with guilt and sorrow.

"Yes, I'd have the Jarl vote, I'd have Skyrim's ruler decided by the Moot but the Jagged crown will not sit upon a High Kings head. Only a Queen's."

He could scarcely conceive her words. "_Only a Queen's."_

"Elisif?" Talius questioned.

"...or me. I am by right of birth and blood, both Jarl of Windhelm and the Protector of Eastmarch. My cousin is no more. His rebellion is done and dead, it's head cut off. Like his own. Call our Queensmoot, General. The Empire will now have its peace."

_Peace? Aye, but for how long._

"And General. Don't fire a volley of arrows at me again." the guilt had gone in those words, fire too burned in those gray eyes of hers. Anger also but the sadness remained for all to see.

_...Not long at all._

* * *

"_What is the music of life? Silence, my brother._"

_**- Falkreath Sanctuary door.**_

**The Pale: Nightgate Inn.**

Stale pints always pissed him off. Worse, he could taste a hint of snowberry in it too. It was _no _dandy glass of snowberry red wine either. It was good stout Nord mead, now stale and full of blasted berries.

_Bloody bastard, Hadring can't even keep his own casks shut._

"Hey, hey! Hadring! Another pint, this ones stale. A new mug too. All I've been tasting these past few hours is snowberries!" Fultheim rasped, his words slurring slightly.

He wasn't _that _drunk after all. Some slurring was normal.

"Seriously Fultheim, you've been tasting snowberries the last few hours? What? Did you forget that snowberry pie? The one you still haven't paid for." The innkeeper replied back to him. Annoyance coated his every word.

_Oh... yeah._

A hiccup escaped his mouth, as he remembered its fine taste.

"Well... how about that other pint?"

"Bugger you Fultheim, pay me for the last five first."

With a heavy heart, he searched his coin purse and paid the keep.

"And the pie?"

Again his fingers hunted for the correct change, when he found it, he offered it to Hadring's open palm.

"There. Now my pint. Some Black-briar mead. The good stuff."

After Fultheim had paid the infernal man, his mood lifted pleasantly. A smile crossed Hadring's face as he poured a mug of Black-briar for the old Nord. They were the only two up and like all nights, the Nightgate Inn was quiet. Eerily so despite it being fuller than usual.

A couple were staying at the inn, two Dunmer by the looks of it. Not that he minded. He'd known some damn good Dark elves in his time. Good friends they'd been, loyal and dependable.

A young quiet Breton had come in around the later afternoon also, a small pretty lass, her blonde silken hair shining radiantly as the sunlight beamed through the window off of it. _If I was only younger... _he thought when he saw her. She seemed to move awkwardly however and when her sight caught glance of him, the sweet little Breton shied away.

One of those Stormcloak couriers had rented a room too. When Fultheim saw him enter, he was sure the poor soul was being hunted by a Lich. His face was stark white, with bright blue eyes heavy with shock while hands shivered when his mug of Nord ale was in hand.

"_The Jarl's dead."_

Fultheim had overheard, he only caught certain snippets but when one name came to the fore-front the wearied Nord listened well enough then.

"_Merilis Talia Indoril but she's the dragonborn to you and me. It was her who killed him. Some would say she turned into a dragon and bit his head off. If so, their stupid. She rode the Dragon! A red one! And swiped his head clean off with a blade of Ebony. The girl was the old Bears granddaughter too. Ulgar Stormcloak's eldest child, Merilis it were, Talia is her daughter. The Stormcloak that ran away. Guess that makes her Jarl now..."_

_Indoril... the Stormcloak that ran away... No, that... that can't be. Renyn's little kid?_

The memories of Blue river prison shot to his mind. The euphoria at their success... a snub to those High elven bastards.

All those memories evaporated when another picture of the past reappeared in his minds eye, one he'd blocked all these years.

"_A pity our demands were rejected without consideration... So be it."_

_The Altmer's hands gave a command and two escorts upended the cart in front of the whole room._

"_What is this madness?" _Fultheim remembered the youthful Imperial saying. So brash and confident, all of it gone in an instant.

"_Our counter demand."_

_Faces, all of them. People he'd known, friends he'd trusted. A woman he'd love too. All blank, their features mute of sensation, emotion or meaning. A dark Elf stood besides him, he too saw the scene. _

_The butchery. The murder._

"_Kill them!"_

"_As the Emperor commands." The Dunmer had said, as simple as that._

_Fultheim uttered not a word, only his body moved, his legs went to a sprint, his hands to his katana. Following his trusted friend and comrade as he too raised his blade in anticipation._

_Then..._

"Fultheim? Hey, are you going to finish that yet? I'm closing up. Got to sleep you know." Hadring said. Thankfully his interruption jarred his own thoughts, memories he didn't wish to relive.

"Yeah... I'll be a minute." He downed his Mead then. The good stuff, then did the same with the Stale ale. Drink helped him forget.

"Ready then, night Hadring. Talos bless ya cotton socks, heh heh."

Only laughter came back in response as they both departed to their own respective beds. He stumbled and stepped backwards multiple times but eventually after a couple of minutes he entered his own bedroom. One filled with nothing bar a ruddy brown set of drawers and his bed. A lumpy mattress, filled with straw. Along with it came a pair of pillows stuffed with duck feathers. It was all he owned as of now. Except _his _sword. His blade.

Fultheim touched it instinctively then, bring it from it's worn sheath. His hands felt it's touch once more, the pummel's grip was still good as his fingers enclosed around it.

_My blade. This is my blade..._

As he did, he also felt another blade... one in his back. The touch sent shivers down his spine, his legs fell from under him as he landed upon his knees but he still held onto his Katana.

_My Blade..._

His vision began to blur, as the cold encroached up and all around the rest of his body. _Poison? _He couldn't be sure.

_I'm too drunk to notice, heh!_

Fultheim fell to his side, away from his lumpy old bed.

With what energy he could muster, he craned his neck upwards and towards the owner of the other blade.

_A Blonde haired Breton, pretty but shy. A quiet thing too._

The Old Nord wheezed and coughed. Blood escaped his mouth, as it no doubt flowed from his back. A pool of crimson would surround him soon, yet he didn't utter a shout for help nor a question to his attacker, _Why would I?_ Darkness now descended upon his sight, a vision once blurred now only showed shadows of the night.

Memories of ages gone by slipped from his grasp, the face of his mother, the proud look in his fathers eyes as he signed up for the Imperial legion.

Only one image remained. _My blade..._

He said but four words before Arkay took his due and brought him before Tsun in Sovngarde. Four words that had defined his whole life, his love, his exile and now would help in death.

"...I... am... a… Blade."

After that, came only silence.

* * *

**_Authors notes:_**

_1. Dragon Language Translation._

_Vukein Thuri _(Combat Overlord)

_Yol Toor Shul _(Fire, Inferno, Sun) Flame breath. (Did I even need to translate this? :P.)

_2. Calder is the Housecarl you receive in Windhelm, evidently Talia didn't get him as a follower I've given him the Clan name of Winter-Oak._

_3. I took the ranks of the Stormcloaks and made them both ranks AND types of soldier. Hopefully that made sense._

_4. Nords as we know are resistant to the cold north, obviously they're not immune and a sudden decrease in temperate for even a hardy warm bloodied creature is going to make one hell of a disadvantage. One of the main reasons of Tullius' gambit sally._

_- A Nord of dark elven blood might well have a resistance to both heat and cold too. ;)  
_


	5. The Crimson Concordat

**Authors notes:**

**Lisa: **_Once again I thank you for your review :D. I'm glad you like Merilis' character development, you should like this chapter also. It is a more 'development-eqse' chapter. The thing is she's... human. Hehe. She believes what she does is right and sometimes she second guesses herself. _

_The Dark Brotherhood... well their the Dark Brotherhood ;). I can't have an Elder Scrolls fanfic without them. No doubt they'll make an impact either sooner or later. Who knows. _

_And Odahviing... he's the man! Or the lizard. Plus he's Talia's 'dragon' pretty much now. He's bowed to her Thu'um and he was one of Alduin's strongest allies too..._

_Thanks also to Moojuice Nne of the Mayonnaise. I've PM-ed my reply to you :)  
_

**For those of you who read this, it will be upgraded to mature. Simply because some things are and will be more for a mature audience. Of course swear words will be minimal, they have little use in the Elder Scrolls universe and it has it's own 'swear' words anyway, e.g. 'Oblivion take you' being one, of course they'll crop up depending upon who's speaking and how their character is portrayed. Also one can not make a dynasty without conception, unless virgin birth's happen through divine intervention.**

**Thank you for all of those that have read this and have enjoyed it. Please review! If you like it yet believe some thing's wrong or out of place, I can change it! Or if you like it and you want to remain the same inform me also!**

* * *

_**Chapter five: The Crimson Concordat.**_

"_Your ignorance astounds me. The Mankar Camaron of the Oblivion crisis was a fraud. He was not the Camaron Usurpers son. An Altmeri bastard of two Bosmer? An Impossibility. And don't bring Magicka or Daedra into this either. Impossible I said! Read up on the Council of healers notes on 'Racial phylogeny', 'The Fall of the Usurper' by Palaux Illthre and 'The Refugees' by Geros Albreigh. All three of them. And... make sure these books come back in one piece, otherwise I'll be taking pieces off of you."_

_**- Urag gro-Shub. Liberian of the Arcanaeum. The College of Winterhold.**_

_**The Pale: Dawnstar. Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.**_

_Silence._

_Like the Void._

Dawnstar lay empty, the Legion had gone, along with many of the communities garrison. The Imperial fleet had set a sail too. All venturing to battle. _And their doom and death. _Laenafil hoped. They were moving westward to Solitude and away from _her _Sanctuary.

"_Our sanctuary Listener." _the spectre corrected candidly.

His words came more often now, along with his advice. It was _refreshing _most of the time. The ancient assassins knowledge of the dark arts were unsurprisingly diverse. Information that had long since been dead and buried was told directly to herself, it'd make her future kills quicker, easier and more efficient.

Laenafil rested upon her sanguine bed, her head nestled comfortably upon an array of freshly washed and newly made pillows as a light intrepid breeze cooled her naked body. She hadn't lain down upon it and merely rested in days.

"_Four days my child, not since after your meeting with the blond Breton. Renault was it?"_

The statement shocked her. _Four days? Your sure Lucien? _She used his old name now, more often than not.

"_I always am. You slept upon Shadowmere's back if I recall. On the journey back from our outing to Dunstad. Even I was impressed with that. You harvested many souls for the Dread Father. How many did you kill?"_

_Many. I doubt the rest even realised until I was miles away. _

Which was true, she only killed the Legionnaires in one of the towers. All others had remained alive. Wholly unaware of their compatriots new red smiles or gaping neck wounds.

_It was a dozen. Including that Battle-mage._

He had been her mark. A Breton sworn to the Fourth Legion. Some by-blow of an upstart Bretony king. A wise soul in High Rock wished him dead and the Night mother had heard their murderous plea. Laenafil took it upon herself to do the deed.

"_Ah you did say you'd stick with assassinations but why just that? I'm sure our pretty little Breton is snug and warm in bed now. After a certain murder most foul far off in the middle of nowhere."_

_Truly? It is done?_

Yet it was not Lucien's voice who answered within her mind, another came. One who's tones lent itself to death and all its beauty and wonderment.

"_**Yes. Two days since, yet I have waited for her return to Dawnstar. Go to her now my sweet daughter. Welcome her, she is now your sister and my own new child."**_

_Of course mistress. _Came Laenafil's answer.

The spectre remained silent now, as he usually did when the Unholy matron conversed with her new Listener.

_I will go at once._

No answer came however, no acknowledge. Yet the Bosmer knew the sweet mother had heard.

Laenafil opened her deep amber eyes then and sat up from her much needed relaxation. Gathering her senses she moved towards her crimson and sable black vestments, which were cradled upon an armour stand to the edge of her room.

Without a second thought she strode towards it, completely unmindful to her lack of smallclothes. Her Bosmeri ears however were alert, very much so as she heard steps near the doorway, a slight intake of breath, followed by an abashed gulp.

"Who's that? Don't you know how to knock?" She called over to the intruder rather indifferently.

"I..er..I..sorry Listener... I...I'll just go." Laenafil chuckled lightly at those words.

_Our new initiate. __Endryn Sarys, how quaint. _

Laenafil turned fully round then, now facing the Dunmeri assassin. His bright carmine eyes darted towards the floor, a dusky maroon rug now becoming his centre of attention. She was quite sure the dark elf was blushing.

"Speak Initiate. You have a tongue don't you?" Laenafil purred playfully. _A tongue to speak, you'll use it for nothing else on me._

Her nakedness was laid bare, her womanhood and breasts on display, clear to Endryn as if upon a cool, moonlit eve whilst surrounded by Welkynd Stones.

_I'll have him look at me in the eyes. A test of his character. Or will he succumb? And scan my body, thinking of ways he could have me? Who did he kill? His wife? A lover? Or some chance nubile girl he took his fancy too? _He would find only malice and pain if he tried it upon her.

Yet maybe it was none of those by the manner he continued to shy away. An age old foe or rival, a robbery botched or a drunken brawl gone wrong, it was more likely to be.

"I said speak." She avowed, her playfulness now gone.

"The...Speaker... he was told me to ask you... if the Night mother requires another death. He has gone to Riften for another two recruits I... have no other assignment." Endryn stuttered innocently.

_How is he an assassin?_

"None? Have you lost your last assignment? Did it fly away?"

"No... no... I did it. It's done but... he's gone already. The Speaker I mean."

_I swore I told Nazir of the Dawnstar contract just yesterday... so soon. That's why he's an assassin. And it's his sixth assignment completed, if I remember true._

"Indeed? And who did you kill?"

_Leigelf of course. I told Nazir himself. Rather ironic. Maybe he and his dead wife are fighting in their Nordic afterlife at this very moment. Would that I could see and laugh._

"Leigelf Quick-Iron... my... my Listener."

"How did you kill him?" That Laenafil didn't know.

Of course no news had yet reached her elven ears of a murder or death in Dawnstar. His kill was silent then, the body may have well be hidden too.

"A fall... he... fell." Sarys answered, still embarrassed.

"And? You... did kill him, did you not?" Elsewisethe Night mother would be most displeased, as would she.

"Yes... I er... loosened the scaffolding before he walked upon it. In... Iron-breaker Mine."

_Most impressive. He was killed in his late wife's old mine too. Oh the simple folks of Dawnstar would love that little morsel. 'The Phantoms of Iron-breaker.' I'll hear them say soon enough. Wonderful._

How these Nord's still hadn't been conquered, Laenafil would never know. She smiled, a predatory grin that may well have given Sarys as heart attack if he'd taken his sight from the ground.

"Good, very good. I know he's yet to be found also. A bonus then? Did Nazir speak of one?"

Finally his gaze shifted, the floor was no doubt becoming wearisome to look at. Those radiant crimson orbs of his, caught sight of her body then in all its feminine glory, but a short glance and then those same orbs were staring into her own eyes, unmoving, unflinching. With a fire that burned passionately behind them. _That, I like._

"Yes, he requests that... I be your Silencer until our numbers are greater."

_How? A listener has no silencer. _She voiced to herself as well as the Ancient Lachance.

"_But you have been speaking too, haven't you? Four fingers and a thumb, yet how can it be if the hand is maimed? Take Nazir's request, make this boy your silencer, after all we must adapt sometimes to grow anew. Mold him, play with him or whatever else takes your fancy. Oh I can hear your thoughts. You can't play dumb with me. Even one such as you, with a heart as black as midnight. He is a child of Sithis like you. Intimacies are to be expected."_

_I'll not take that kind of advice off a dead man. Not even you._

A ghastly chuckle was the ancient assassins reply. It made her own grin even wider upon hearing it. His words however had brought her into agreement with the proposal.

"Fine. You shall have that. A Silencer then for your excellent work within our Dark Brotherhood. I'll have your next assignment when the sweet mother has the need." she paused momentarily.

"...And you shall have another bonus."

Laenafil marched towards him after those few words. Moving closer, intimately much so. She pressed her lips gently upon his own, but for a brisk, fleeting moment. After that she lent away.

"A kiss, from your sweet Listener."

* * *

_Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart,  
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes,  
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art,  
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes._

_It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,_  
_Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes,_  
_For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows,_  
_You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come._

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin  
Naal ok zin los vahriin  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan  
Fod nust hon zindro zaan  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal _

_**- The Dragonborn Comes: Bards College version.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Proudspire Manor.**_

The Snow had fallen heavily this evening, ending finally at midnight. A late winter's frosting upon the ramparts and buildings of Solitude had given the city an austere, almost ghostly shade. The Blue Palace's many spires and roof tiles as well as it's cerulean dome now appeared stark white in the moonlight. It too looked spectral in the twilight.

Masser and Secunda were now clear in the nights sky, so close that at one point Talia imagined she could just reach out and pluck them both from the heavens. She continued to look up, gazing across them, scanning the stars and searching for _someone,_ _somewhere_.

"Do you hear me when I speak? Are you in Sovngarde now? Smiling at my grandfather? Does he smile back? He did not come towards me when I stepped into the Hall of Valor, neither did my Uncle, only you, only _you_. Are they ashamed of me? Do they both hate me now too? Do you?"

Four days had past since Ulfric's blood had painted the royal road and her own blade. Still she was torn and remorseful, the action lay heavy upon her.

_My own cousin, my own blood. _

Ulfric's Stormcloaks. No, _her_ Stormcloaks now remained positioned in their encampment under Calder Winter-Oak's command. The fighting in Haafingar had finally ceased. Yet still peace eluded her mothers homeland.

Skirmishes still persisted in other parts of Skyrim, many still believed her cousin to be alive, that the tale of his demise was simply an Imperial ploy. Others insisted as such, including the newly titled Jarl of Markarth. His answer to the Moot had come merely five hours ago.

"_I'll attend the moot when Ulfric Stormcloak says so or not at all." _

The Silver-bloods were not to be trusted. Had been the conclusion she'd received from Valen tullius.

That was one of the reasons Talia couldn't sleep. Her eyes refused to shut and so she'd retreated to her snow coated patio. Clothed in but a nightdress and a pair of doeskin boots, she gazed up to the innumerable stars above. Wondering and hoping that something would tell her that she'd done the right thing.

_What if I had persuaded Ulfric to end it? Would he have listened? The Silver-bloods would have accepted then._

Somehow however she doubted it. He would never have given up his quest or his future crown. Ulfric's ideals had been true, _at first_. The Thalmor had no business deciding who someone could or could not worship. The Empire knew it, Valen Tullius certainly understood it. Maybe even the late Emperor himself.

_Maybe... you were braver than them all cousin._

However righteous he had been though, his rebellion had brought Skyrim to its knees.

_Skyrim is still on her knees._

"I saw that dossier. By the Nine! I showed you, plain and true in the Halls of High Hrothgar. That's why you agreed! Why did you break the ceasefire? Why? The Thalmor were using you, using the Empire. Weakening us all." Talia seethed aloud.

One can't fight a battle with a knife in the back and Ulfric had been that blade without realising.

"_A man may kneel. Doesn't mean they'll stay knelt." _

She should of said the same to her cousin. It had been her mother who once told her that. Talia was around ten at the time and the news had reached the Imperial city of the signing of the second treaty of Stros M'kai.

"_Soon, soon we'll do the same. The whole Empire. You'll see. We'll drive them back. All the way to Alinor. The next concordat. That'll be signed with Thalmori blood. Atop of their broken Crystal tower._"

The lady of Windhelm; her kind and caring yet defiant mother, had been the most wrothful she'd ever seen her. However when Talia had asked where her father was, the anger and fury turned to helpless despair. She had cried and lamented, for hours upon end after it. Yet no answer was uttered from her mothers lips, the tears in themselves were answer enough.

_The Thalmor killed him. _

A droplet of moisture landed upon her cheek then, trailing slowly down her face and to her own lips. The taste of salt gave Talia her own answer for no rainfall descended from the skies. She was crying now too.

Crying at the memory of her mother and the realisation that her father was long dead, murdered just like so many others. The tears too fell for Skyrim and for an Empire that lay dying slowly. Ravaged, broken and beaten, unable to stand up again, even to fight for itself. Talia also cried for Uflric, a cousin she hardly knew, one that had even denied her heritage to her own face yet had defied an Empire to stand up for his own beliefs... at least at one time.

He had wanted the High Kingship for his own end. Or had he? Was it the same now for her?

_No._ _I don't want the crown but Skyrim needs a High Queen to end this war._

Whether it be her or Elisif, it did not matter. So long as her wish came true.

"Someone, anyone. Give me guidance. Was I right? Was he right?" She said, weeping.

"Fret not my child." came a low lyrical voice.

Talia spun around, her features full of surprise and latent fear. No one was there, the doorway to Proudspire hadn't been opened and she was positive that the only footfalls were her own.

"Show yourself!" she uttered commandingly, as her eyes chanced upon nothingness and no one.

_Have I gone mad? _

"Calm. Your voice is a precious thing. Waste it not."

"A spectre? A ghost? Show yourself." Talia voiced again.

At those words, a figure appeared before her eyes.

His skin dark, the colour of ashen grey. The stranger bore eyes of fiery red that smouldered brightly even in the dead of night. A trimmed Raven beard straddled his jawline and chin while short cropped hair covered the top of his head, hair the same colour as Talia's own. An Elf of the Dunmeri line.

But for an instance she believed it to be her father... _ It's not, so alike yet so different. I don't... know._

His eyes and brow appeared the same, even his beard was near identical. The Dark elf's nose seemed different however, it appeared less angular while his ears were longer and appeared sharper to her own eyes. The most telling of all however was a scar that ran across his left cheek. Her father Renyn had no such injury, none that she remembered anyway. Of course she couldn't be certain, it had been so long since the last time Talia had seen him, all she had to go on was a memory, one faded with age and time.

He was attired in an armour she'd never seen before, a cape of shrouded white covered his chest plate as well as his arms and legs down to a pair of golden shaded boots. The curved pauldrons of what appeared to be made of Dwemer steel gave Merilis a clue as to where the attire came from. The figures right hand also tightly gripped a gilded obsidian handle of a large, exotic blade. Similar in look to an Alik'r Scimitar. Like his armour, the pummel appeared to hold the design and craftsmanship of the Deep Elves.

"Who are you? Are you my..." _father._ Her voice croaked, unable to utter the last word. One that danced morosely upon her tongues tip.

"No." The figure said. He stepped closer. Yet when he placed his plated boots upon the snow covered ground, no print appeared, no sound escaped from under foot.

_A ghost then. _Talia realised.

The life-like apparition spoke then, the same low tone that resonated with her past memories, a voice that seemed like her sires yet wholly different too.

"An ancestor spirit. Your fathers kin once worshipped them, as I once did. The changed folk, _Chimer, _we once were_._ Then the cursed ones, the dark elves, _Dunmer._ Thrice blessed is your line, Talia Merilis of House Indoril and Clan Stormcloak. Thrice blessed and once cursed. The same blood flows through your veins. The power of ancients, of Gods both true and false. Legitimate and bastard both. Of trees crossed and brought together. You know it, the Dragon's blood. It comes not from a divine blessing at birth, Akatosh already gave Tamriel the last Dragonborn and her people killed them all. Or so they believe. As I said, you know this to be true already."

"Know what to be true?" She echoed, unknowing at the spirits words.

"A line unbroken. Directly from his blood, not his brothers. A bastard thought dead and a treason committed. Brought together under Dawn and Dusk near the Third's End. The divine blessing of Akatosh, the second, his covenant and Alessia's salvation. Twice blessed by the Rose's mother and the Queen of the Night's Sky, the first and third. Cursed by her too whilst in the womb, the sire cast down from betrayal in the First plus seven hundred. When Lorkhan stirred."

Despite herself Talia shouted. "Speak plainly spectre! None of these riddles!"

Yet no true answer came. Only another sentence she half-understood.

"You are the union of Man and Mer, brought together at the Fifth's beginning. Heiress of the Stormcrown and Twilight's daughter. Dragonborn and Moonshadowed."

"Who are you?" She questioned, despite knowing full well that she'd receive no straight answer.

"Me? I am Indoril. Like you. One who came before and did come again. A grandsire to your father. Great granddaughter you are. Born in the Third, dead in the Fourth." The spirit said in the same tone.

"Your my great grandfather?" She asked, knowing full well it was true. A slight nod from the Dunmeri spirit confirmed it beyond all doubt.

"What's your name? Your first name." Talia again queried.

"My name? My name? I... remember not."

"What did they call you?" She intoned once more.

"_Nevevarine." _

As he uttered the title, he was gone. Vanishing into nothingness. Only his words remained, dancing warmly in the cold midnights breeze.

"_My gift. May it's flaming brand bring truth to your eyes and hope to your soul."_

A dull thud hit the stone and snow then. A curved blade, the colour of polished quick-silver now lay were the apparition at first came to her sight. The self-same sword the spirit had held before. It shone faintly, a pale fiery hue emanated from the blade. Where the light touched, hoarfrost retreated, melting away as if upon a brisk summers day.

_A sword of fire. _Talia thought, _a True Flame. _The tears streaming down her face stopped. Someone had answered her prayers.

* * *

**_Authors notes:_**

_1. Urag gro-Shub is right! A usurper usurping a usurper. Or maybe Bethseda forgot their own lore. The child is the race of the mother. Therefore Mankar Cameron was no Cameron usurper ;). It also makes Pelegius the III (and the mad) an Altmeri first and Imperial second for his mother was an Altmer. He didn't seem to have pointed ears to me in Skyrim._

_2. Laenafil's section will have; "speech marked Italics for Lachance". **"Bold speech marked Italics for the Night mother." **and italics for her own thoughts. Whilst speaking/listening in her head._

_3. Hopefully Merilis/Talia's section is showing the depth of her character and emotions. I'd rather readers care for one of my characters then think 'meh'._

_4. A 'Trueflame'. Enough said ;)_


	6. Truce or War

**Authors notes:**

**More of the Dragon tongue is spoken in this chapter. Translations of the language is in the end notes. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

_**Chapter Six: Truce or War.**_

"_I may never know the dealings of the Elder Council in the pretenders reign, or even the true reason my father was murdered. What I do know, and this is a certainty. But for their stupidity both my father, uncle and I would have stayed loyal to the end. We Tullius men take our oath's seriously. I pray you remember that."_

_**- Octavian Tullius: Nephew of Valen Tullius. In conversation with Talia Indoril.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Castle Dour. War room.**_

The dawn had broken yet Valen still found no respite. It was the 21st of Sun's Dawn. A Sundas, supposedly a day of relaxation. The General would find none today however. A great heap of letters both read and unread lay strewn upon his war rooms provincial map of Skyrim.

With the siege lifted, the Empire's couriers had finally made their way into the city of Solitude. Some had hidden before the Stormcloak's vast host, whilst many others still had been captured. The Dragonborn herself had bought their release. Stormcloak prisoners had been the coin, some who had languished in Castle Dour's dungeons for weeks and months.

"_One Imperial for one of Ulfric's Stormcloak's?_" he remembered questioning.

"_No. One Imperial for one of my Stormcloak's." _had been Talia's retort.

Unfortunately those that were captured brought restricted information and news that had been read by the Rebels themselves. Tullius thanked the Nine that the Dragonborn's intervention cut the siege short. Ulfric had known about the rest of his legion marching westward and Valen was sure that a trap or ambuscade would have laid in wait for them.

_But for her and that red Dragon..._

Ulfric's... no_ Talia's_ army still lay sprawled across the royal road in their encampment as well as the coastal villages south of Solitude. All the way to Dragon bridge. They held the crossing still and the approaches up from the Reach and Whiterun. Hold's still loyal to Ulfric. Word had already come from Markarth. The Silver-blood's wouldn't yield, Valen knew. With Whiterun he was less certain. Vignar Grey-mane's reply had yet to reach them. Yet the Grey-mane was once a Commander in the Legion, during the Great War.

_And so were half of the Stormcloak's leaders and Ulfric as well. _

The rest of his legion, the part that had marched from Dawnstar held the southern side of the Karth river's mouth, while his fleet lay now waiting in Solitudes own harbour, it's smaller vessel's ready to ferry his legionnaires across the gaping Karth. Yet no one had moved, both sides having been ordered to cease hostilities. Himself for the Empire, Talia for the Rebels. It was a shaky truce at best for the Stormcloak's still fought around Morthal and the borders of Winterhold., unbelieving that Ulfric's life blood had tasted Skyrim's snow.

_One wrong move... _Only the Dragonborn had kept the Rebels at bay, her Dragon too.

_The Red_ _Dragon. _

He reminded himself, it flew above Solitude every now and then or perched itself upon the mountains above. The beast was never far away. His legionnaires were whispering, some even openly speaking out against the White-Gold Concordat now. They all saw it, as well as he.

_Those banners upon the gate. On Dour itself. That Dragon, crimson aye! But uncrowned..._

_'Talos be praised.' _many said, in hushed tones. Some of his Nordic recruits more so. The talk of Ysmir was on their lips... but all their utterances fell dead when the Thalmor Justicar's made their daily inspections_._

_Bloody Thalmor! _

It was happening more often now, at all times of the day and night. They wanted the Dragonborn. Elenwen had signed a death warrant for her.

_They'll have no chance in Oblivion! Buggering Altmer._

After seeing it, Valen himself had let out slip Talia was in the Emperors tower, the sole place the Justicar's had no access to. They were scared, of that Tullius knew for a certainty.

_See how long they figure out she's in her own manse under guard. Bloody fools._

To top his Sundas off, news had finally reached Skyrim from the Imperial city. The Elder council had crowned Leonara Motierre the Empress of Tamriel. The proclamation reading;

"_To all loyal and nobles vassals of the Red Diamond Throne. _

_Emperor Titus Mede the second is dead,_

_Long live Empress Leonara the first of her name,_

_May her reign be both long and glorious."_

Another came along with that. Addressed to him as military governor of Skyrim. The Imperial red Diamond seal lay upon it. Still thankfully unaltered and untouched.

"_To Valen Tullius,_

_General of the 4__th__ Legion and Governor of Skyrim in absentia of her High King._

_Despite missing the investiture of her Imperial Majesty, you are still included as one of her most zeal and noble soldiers of the Empire._

_In light of this and because of your recent activities in Skyrim an additional period of one month has been applied to you for the said requirement of returning to the Imperial City, where your vows to the Empire and it's new Empress can be renewed._

_Failing to attend or failure to give prior information for said absence; before the 31__st__ of First Seed will be viewed as treason._

_Like all General's of the Empire this directive is both normal and age old. Brought forth in the time of Attrebus the second of his name._

_May the eight guide you in your endeavours..."_

It continued, yet the part Tullius noticed most of all was the final segment, signed by Amaund Motierre, as _Emperor Consort, _the Empress hadn't sent this letter. It was not her demand, but her _husbands._

The letter had irked him in other ways, in so much that it had questioned his loyalty despite it being customary. All reigning Generals would return to the Imperial City in light of a new Emperor or Empress..._but _until five days ago he was under siege.

_A month? What in Oblivions name are they talking about!_

Without that month's leeway they'd have expected him to smash the rebellion, take Windhelm followed by Riften and every other Stormcloak stronghold and then march south to Cyrodiil in a two weeks, maybe even less. _Impossible_. Even if the entirety of his Legionnaires were mounted.

It had been signed and dated the 29th of Morning Star. If Valen hadn't returned, he'd have been viewed either as a traitor or more than likely, a dead General who failed to stem the rebellion in Skyrim.

He sighed. It all seemed wrong. Even his bones felt it ill at ease.

_...It must have been a quick Coronation too. _

Titus Mede II had died on the Eleventh. Had his cousin been crowned only a week after? Two weeks? It had specifically stated that he'd _missed_ it.

_It was a coronation then. _

This was the second thing that irritation him, more so than the slight upon his honour and devotion. Bells of alarm again sounded in Valen's own mind. The selfsame one's that appeared after hearing the news that all those of the Immediate Imperial family had been assassinated. Somehow stopping at Motierre's spouse Leonara. The new Empress.

_History repeating itself. In more ways than one. _

Tullius kept the concerns to himself. He never knew who was listening in. A Consort wasn't so quick to exercise what powers they had, especially after such succession. Nor did coronation's happen so quickly, even if the previous Emperor or Empress had died unnaturally. It took months to organise, sometimes over a year or more. There had been only one exception to this ruling in the past two Eras. The barely day long reign of Martin Septim at the end of the Oblivion crisis.

_Motierre what are you playing at? Unless... the Thalmor. They'll get a war sooner with you near the throne and everyone knows that's their wish._

"Argh! Oblivion damn them both!" he shouted, uncaring this time of who's ears heard. Plots within plots, it was making his head hurt, what's more Valen had no proof.

"General?"

Tullius glanced over his shoulder at that, his eyes catching sight of Legate Rikke. She was up at dawn like himself. Already attired in her heavy armour.

"What? No lie in Rikke? Even on a Sundas?"

"Sleeping in when my country hangs in the balance? I'm afraid not General." Rikke replied sincerely.

"Heh! Good. Come, I need all these letters sifted through. I stopped my count at the thirtieth."

And so the General continued, opening missives already read by the Stormcloak's or cracking open the wax seals of unmolested parchments. Of which there were many. Marks of the fourth legion, a Crimson four written within the Empires Red Diamond came up for the most part. Scout and Skirmish reports, reinforcement requests as well as other things came up. All outdated and of little usage now.

"Are any of these relevant?" Valen questioned to no one but himself.

"Nothing in mine either sir." Rikke answered.

More letters came and went. Reading them was becoming a chore. One without reward for everything was old and out of date.

"I need some air. Legate have these missives incinerated." Valen ordered, whilst pointing to one of the letter stacks he'd made for the messages already read.

The General was tired, having had a restless sleep. The nights air afforded him little respite. Other officers had noted the same, many had complained of their rest being disturbed at the apex of twilight.

_Cold winds and old words. Heh! That's all I've bloody had today._

More than half of Castle Dour's courtyard lay in shadow, yet the cool air refreshed him now. The sun beat down upon the far end of the bailey. A multitude of Imperial Archer's trained to his left, firing upon a row of forty targets as if in perfect synchrony whilst bow auxiliary and Legionnaires on patrol marched along the battlements of Dour and Solitudes inner ramparts.

Tullius walked further, aiming towards the Emperors Tower and an area of the courtyard below it which lay engulfed in sunlight.

"GENERAL!" The shout came from behind him. Making Tullius stop abruptly.

_All I ask for is a few minutes peace. Gods! A minute is even! That's all I ask!_

Valen knew the voice though, he knew it all too well. He spun around, trying to dismiss the irritation from his features. His eyes then caught sight of her.

_Elenwen._

And behind her, a full company of armed and armoured Thalmor. Near thirty in all, each and every one of them a High Elf. It appeared to Tullius that the entirety of them were ready for combat. Despite that, he greeted the Altmer cordially, whilst trying to hide both his annoyance and new found worry. Thankfully and fortunately this happened to be the majority of Thalmor left in Skyrim.

_The Stormcloaks did a good turn there._ Tullius admitted, abet begrudgingly. Still all of their strength was mustered, here and now in full battle regalia.

_They're prepared for conflict. Elenwen's taking no chances if it's the Dragonborn she's after._

"Yes Ambassador? What is it?"

"What is it? What is it General? A jape surely! You know full well what it is. The warrant is fully in line with the White-Gold Concordat. Hand the women over and we'll forget this little... subversion of yours..."

He merely shrugged his shoulders. A feigning of ignorance yet his mind was in overdrive. Elenwen continued to prattle on unabated. The Ambassador _was _indeed here for the Dragonborn.

_Bloody Thalmor still think Talia's in the Emperors tower. Let them..._

"...Rumour says she still rests in the Emperors tower. For full three days, a folly to be sure? General Tullius if you refuse to allow entry my Justicar's will enter by force of arms and magic."

That got his whole undivided attention. It was a threat, a direct one.

_There'll be more blood before this day ends. _

Tullius answered brusquely. It was wholly the wrong tactic for the Altmeri Ambassador to take. Valen's tiredness began to wash away as adrenaline now circled through his system, invigorating his body and mind. Anger dripping from his raised voice.

_No bloody High Elf will threaten me or my men!_

"Your excellency, that would be wholly _against_ the Concordat. You know that. To _threaten_ a General of the _Empire_. Permission to enter the Emperors tower comes from the Governor of Skyrim..."

"... and I _won't _let you go in."

Elenwen appeared dumbstruck. The Altmer's mouth opened yet not a word came out. Silence echoed through the courtyard of Dour as those close by stopped and momentarily forgot their business.

The ten Imperial Legionnaires guarding the entry to the Emperor's tower placed their hands upon their hilts at his words. They motioned towards Tullius, flanking him now in a protective manner. When their footfall's ceased, only the heightened squawk's of Haarfin Eagles and the twang and impact of Imperial bows could be heard. Those came along with the General's own heartbeat which now pounded rapidly within his chest.

After a few more moments, the silence ended. Along with the squawk's. Elenwen finally recomposed herself.

"General Tullius. I'll give you one last chance before we believe _you _are wilfully abetting a known Talos worshipper and murderer."

"Ambassador." Valen said sharply. "It is not wise to threaten a General of the Imperial Legion."

Elenwen grinned at his last words. As if she expected it. A confident attitude. One which dis-quietened him.

"I take that as a no then. A shame. Lest I forget Valen Tullius. A missive arrived today, from the Empress herself. You are no longer General of the fourth Legion. Hadn't you heard? The Imperial City is in uproar at your betrayal of their beloved Emperor, in concert with House Maro and Indarys."

It was Valen's turn to appear surprised.

_What...?_ Was all Tullius thought, as words failed to escape his lips.

Elenwen motioned towards him then, placing the parchment she now held within his reach. It had been opened, however the Empress' Seal lay upon it.

_It's doctored. It bloody has to be!_

Yet upon scanning the missive that hope in him decreased significantly.

Valen knew not the new Empress' own writ but he certainly noted those of the Elder Council, including the Emperor Consort himself. It was dated barely days after the previous missives he'd studied before. The 3rd Sun's Dawn, merely Seventeen days prior.

_What in Oblivions name...? How'd Elenwen get a hold of this? How...? First they commend me, now they scorn me... name me traitor!_

He was speechless still. All he could tell himself was that it was a ruse, a Thalmor ploy. Something to discredit him. There could be no other explanation. _Yet the signature_. It was Motierre's own. Along with the entirety of the Elder Council bar three.

_My brothers signature isn't here. By the Nine! If they've hurt him!_

There were other names lacking also.

Farwil Indarys' signature was missing. The Dunmer count of Cheydinhal was an ardent opponent of Motierre and his family.

_Is he removing opposition? Blast it! There'll be more civil war if that's true._

The second omission was Julius the patriarch of House Maro. They'd held the county of Kvatch since the reforging of the Empire after the woes of the Oblivion crisis.

_But... Julius' eldest son and his grandson Gaius are dead. Along with the Emperor..._

Valen's own nephew, Octavian had married into House Maro. Had that union condemned his family also?

The General continued, examining the letter closer now. Trying to notice errors, any evidence of forgery. Yet none came to his sight, only the words written down.

_My execution or Suicide..._

_The promotion of Legate Seutonis of the 8th Legion to General..._

_...an Order of Decimatio..._

"Decimation..." he mouthed as if it were a curse. The handful of Legionnaires around him heard, stiffening coolly at the dreaded word.

"For what General? We've done nothing wrong. Neither you or the Fourth." One of his soldiers said. He was hushed quickly by another but the point stood.

His Legion wouldn't stand for it. Neither would he. Tullius knew that every man and women would rise up against such an order. A punishment for a legion who's General had committed Treason or for a full legion' which had professed cowardice in the field. Neither of these acts had been indulged in.

_If this is real..._

The General eyes blazed with fury then as his mind turned, his thoughts again apace. It was clear. It appeared to be all fitting together.

_The Thalmor will benefit from this along with that bloody Breton. Are they working together? _It certainly seemed so. An alliance of convenience perhaps.

The Empire would not stand for it and as a General of the Imperium, Tullius wouldn't stand for it nor would his Legion. Not with the threat of decimatio over their heads.

_The Emperor's murder and his family. Now a charge of treason on my own head by Motierre? The Maro, Tullius and Indarys names missing off of the Elder Council. Amaund's own wife now on the throne..._

He spoke once again after his moments silence. This time, Valen's words echoed, his tone coming forth with a power and zeal. It resonated through the Bailey, touching all corners of the ramparts and battlements. There was no doubt in Tullius' mind that most of his Legionnaires around him would hear.

"Ambassador Elenwen has taken leave of her senses and has professed direct aggression to the Imperium itself! Men and women of the fourth Legion! Arrest her and these interlopers in the name of the Empire!"

It was at that moment when the dark-tide engulfed them all. Bathing himself and Elenwen in shadow. In near simultaneity two of his Legionnaires grabbed Elenwen and brought her roughly to the floor in utter shock and confusion.

_Now comes the blood. _Tullius realised. It was a thought he relished as was the look on the Ambassador's face.

* * *

"_One thing you must remember about Ulfric the Restorer and Titus Mede the second is this; _

_Both men hated the Thalmor in equal measure, Ulfric just happened to be honest about it."_

**_- The Skyrim Commentaries: The Stormcloak Rebellion. By __Olfina Battle-born._**

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Castle Dour. Courtyard.**_

_Fahliil Pahlok. Nust tinvaak ahrk nir faal Dovahkiin. Nii fen ni kos aus naan lingrah._

Odahviing would not suffer it. They voiced their words of the _Dovahkiin. _These _Fahliil, _these elves wished her death. Enemies they were to his _Thuri_ but too lowly for her to fight. She who had humbled and defeated _Alduin_ and sent him back to _Bormah_ Akatosh.

The Dovah had hear the _Krin jul kendov_, the man warrior who spoke with courage, he had Dovah scales of his own, _Sil ahrk smoliin, _Soul and passion. The _Jul, _this General of men had just turned these elves to enemies also. Odahviing had heard all their talk and bluster. He also smelled the anticipation in the _Fahliil_, as well as latent fear at the turn of events.

_A thing they did not anticipate._

_Nust fen Faas nu._ _Fear will not be their last emotion, it will be pain. _The Dovah thought as his wing's beat above the _Golz_, the stone of man, made to defend.

He flew closely over the _Fahliil _and the General who his _Thuri_ called _Fahdon_. A friend to his overlord, the _Dovahkiin_.

Battle had begun as he flew over to scan the view. Steel of arrow, sword and axe was heard as was the _Lah_, Magicka in abundance. The _Fahliil_ excelled in it's usage in their art of war. Odahviing had first felt it's sting against the _Odfahliil, _the Elves of Snow.

The Dovah circled, flying over the cityscape of Solitude as he returned back towards the castle called Dour. He aimed now back towards the open place which lay between the inner and outer walls of chiselled stone.

Odahviing quickened his pace as he again espied his targets. Moving closer now to the cluster of _Fahliil. _They had retreated into a defensive formation. Their shields raised deflecting arrows as those behind them used Magicka to both attack and defend also.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL." _his _voice_ roared. Sending a cascade of Dragonfire towards his foes.

The cries of agony and pain filled the air. The aureate moonstone that the _Fahliil _wore as protection did not avail itself against his _Thu'um. _

Many were alight now, akin to the _Sos __Strunmah, _the blood mountain to the east when it had erupted in the past. Their weapons crackled and melted as the golden armour they bore stuck to their skin and underclothing beneath, leaving their bodies to boil and burn inside a gilded infernal shroud.

Onwards he went. After his fiery assault the Dovah landed upon the now gruesome display. But three had survived his deadly _Thu'um_. Those that were still alive must of projected an ample enough Magicka ward about themselves.

"Auri-El! Have mercy!" one whimpered near to his left wing. Odahviing ignored the _Nivahriin Fahliil. _One who had now fallen to his knees, holding both hands up in surrender.

The remaining two lay to his right. Now on the ground no doubt because of the impact the Dovah had made.

Their shields came up as they brought themselves back to their feet. As to did their Gilded swords of Elven wrought. The pairs fear was palpable now, they reeked of it and of other things too.

Yet the Dovah's eyes simply glared at the _Fahliil _closest to him. A female elf. He saw the shaking of her shield and blade, it appeared like the rustling of leaves. The coming of storm and thunder...

Odahviing neck twisted violently as he pounced without hesitation.

Within but a second the Dovah's jaw were around one of the two _Fahliil_ left fighting. Screams escaped her mouth as he violently swung the limp elf about. Then _Odahviing's_ jaws snapped shut, sundering the _Fahliil_ in two. Blood dripped and bone crunched, turning the _Dovah's_ crimson scales a further shade redder. The screams stopped. At least from that particular _Hokoron. _The assailant which had once been at the female elf's side had begun to shriek and cry. Again Odahviing's predatory eyes caught sight of the new target, his neck muscles ready to spring into action once more.

"_ODAHVIING! STOP!"_

The words froze him, slackening his motions considerable. He caught sight of the Dovahkiin as his neck craned backwards within an instant. She was close now to were the _Jul _General stood. He was surrounded by others of his _Jul Fron_, all with their _Dwiin Spaan's, _SteelShield's up. It reminded Odahviing of a giant silver tortoise. They too held the head _Fahliil. _The _Elenwen _who talked much but spoke little.

"As the_ Thuri _Commands." he voiced. The Dovah's head swang back round to again face the enemy to his right, he growled menacingly at the particularly fortunate _Fahliil_ before him.

"_Aam? Aaz?" _Odahviing questioned to himself. _Hmm? Mercy... _It was a new thing to him.

"_Banaar Fahliil. _Humble elf, you will bow before the overlord." Odahviing roared.

The elf immediately dropped to the ground prostrate. His blade and shield had been abandoned to either side as the _Fahliil_ appeared to then kiss the stone pavement below.

_'Oh thank you!' 'Mercy!' 'Audi-El bless you'. _

Were some of the phrases this hapless elf muttered. The Dovah paid him no heed. He growled again at the pitiful creature and once more turned to look upon his _Thuri._

"I am here _Dovahkiin_. You speak my name and command me. What else would you have me do?"

He uttered in near full Tamrielic.

Odahviing was becoming used to the speech, more so now that the _Dovahkiin_ knew not his own Draconic tongue, not fully anyway.

"Odahviing...what... what have you done?" The _Thuri_ muttered. Her _voice_ surprisingly weak and fragile.

But it was the_ Jul _General who answered for him.

"What was necessary. They were enemies of the Empire."

"_Krosis. _Your Empire's general is correct. They were your enemies too _Dovahkiin_. They wished _Dinok, _death upon you."

The General nodded his head slightly at Odahviing's words. A human gesture of agreement the Dovah realised.

"This... _Odahviing_ is right." he paused momentarily, then spoke again, louder this time. He spoke now with a thunder and fury few mortal men could muster.

"Men and women of the Fourth Legion! The Thalmor here! They conspired, along with Amaund Motierre, our new Emperor Consort to murder the true Emperor, Titus Mede the second! Before his body lay cold, they placed the royal diadem upon his wife's head! Yes, it is true that the laws of succession dictate she is to seat the Red Diamond throne but not when it is laced with the blood of her cousins and of her sister and mother! I say this, No!"

Gasps and murmurs were abound, they crept precociously across carved stones and ramparts. The Generals voice held weight to the _Muz_, men around him then, Odahviing reasoned correctly. His words continued.

"I received a missive today, ordering my execution! And that of the Fourth! The order of Decimation has been given! _Decimatio_! For doing your duty to the Empire! For dying and holding our ground against her foes!"

More mutterings rippled now through the stupendous amount of _Muz_ around them. Shouts of anger and woefulness broke into the ever increasing cascade of noise.

_He speaks with a strong Joorre Zul, the mortals voice._

"We are soldiers of the Empire! We are _not _soldiers of Motierre! Or the THALMOR!"

That brought the majority of the outcries to cheers. But a few came to Odahviing's hearing first, yet after it started their din grew cacophonous as more joined in the chorus.

_'Tullius!' 'Tullius!' 'Tullius!' _came to their lips, an echoed statement moving and shaping of its own free will.

"Praise Talos! And long live the Empire!" The General shouted finally. His speech now at an end.

Odahviing knew not the significance of such a statement. Knowing only that this _Talos,_ had once been a previous _Dovahkiin, _in the times since the Dovah's death and rebirth. _I must learn of this Talos._

Those self-same words that came from the General now escaped the _Muz, _the men about sounds of praise and the exaltation of their Empire now accompanied the chants of _Tullius_. Ever more it grew, yet Odahviing had his eyes only for his _Thuri_, the _Dovahkiin. _

Their Dragonborn, his Overlord.

The Dovah's head arched upwards and his_ Thu'um _came forth. A shout that silenced the ever increasing chants.

"_DOVAHKIIN!_" came his word. Powerful, strong, everlasting like the _Dov_.

The muted legionnaires, silenced mere moments before at once picked up a further chant. One that reverberated around the _Golz, _their stone walls and the city below. Louder and louder it grew as more and more took it upon themselves to join in.

_'Dragonborn! Dragonborn! Dragonborn!'_

* * *

_Authors notes._

_1. Dragon language translations._

_Fahliil Pahlok. Nust tinvaak ahrk nir faal Dovahkiin. Nii fen ni kos aus naan lingrah. - _

_(Elf Arrogance, they speak and hunt the dragonborn. It will not be suffer(ed) any long(er).)_

_Bormah - (Father.) Akatosh_

_Krin jul kendov - (Courageous man warrior.)_

_Nust fen Faas nu - (They will fear now.)_

_Odfahliil - (Snow Elf.) He has used the term 'Odkrah Fahliil's' before. That was more of an insult, naming them Snow cold elves. This time Odahviing has simply used their name._

_Sos Strunmah - (Blood "Red" Mountain.)_

_Nivahriin Fahliil - (Cowardly Elf.)_

_Hokoron – (Enemy.)_

_Jul Fron – (Man Kin.)_

_Dwiin Spaan – (Steel Shield.)_

_Muz - (Men.)_

_Joorre Zul – (Mortals voice.)_

_2. Just a point. Talia has many names and will continue to get more names. (It was stated explicitly in the first opening quotation.) _

_Different regions and races will have their own names for her. So being called Merilis then Talia then something else is not an error but the POV's view on what she's called. She calls herself Talia however, more due to the fact that her mothers name was Merilis also._


	7. Fit for a Queen

**Authors notes:  
**

**Lisa:** I forgot to add my reply to chapter six. So it's on chapter seven. As always thank you for the review!

In regards to Talia. Very true, a PC character (who can attain God-Like powers) in its self has to be powerful, to have them not would be a disservice, hence why Talia is as she is. She can cut through a wave of soldiers like a hot knife through butter because why playing as her, she... cuts through soldiers like a hot knife through butter. (Using become ethereal is my new favorite power too. Running through a hail of arrows and coming out unscathed, pretty epic.) Still she's human (A Nord. Well half-human but I'm sure you get the point.) and prone to errors of judgement, emotions both positive and negative etc.

I've just started my Laenafil play-through (the stories Listener). And I agree with what you say about having loads of titles. Hence why I've split them up. (Talia is main quest and pretty much all the /noble/ side-quests.) Laenafil is the Dark Brotherhood and any quest were you get to murder people.

The reason why my updates been so long is because I got Skyrim on PC (I have it on PS3 too. Which is still waiting for Dawnguard :S).

The fires are still burning ;).

**As always thank you for reading. Please review also, positive and negative (constructive critics) are always welcome. Simple "I don't like her/him/it/the story/you" Isn't constructive. If that was an answer in an exam or essay, it'd be awarded an F. Reasons and explanations. The same for errors. If you spot one or quite a few tell me, then I can fix them.  
**

**Anyway onto the next chapter.  
**

* * *

_**Chapter Seven: Fit for a Queen.**_

"_We're all traitors now."_

_**- Valen Tullius.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Castle Dour. Courtyard.**_

"My Lady. My Jarl."

The words were a curse. _My Jarl..._ a title writ in blood. Talia did not answer, for she was still transfixed at the sight before her and the every increasing noises around her.

_I came to speak of the Moot... and now this._

She felt nothing but hatred for the Thalmor, now torn and incinerated by _Odahviing_. Their lifeless bodies strewn across Dour's expansive Bailey. Yet the sounds of the Imperials merely washed over her, smashing vainly upon her consciousness. They cheered and praised, espousing little response.

_To Tullius, Talos and Talia the Dragonborn. How the bards will sing of the three T's. _A slight grin kept knowingly to her lips. It sent a shiver down her spine.

_Do I smile at my own joke or at these dead Thalmor? _The thought chilled her. What's worse, she'd wished for their deaths.

Talia tried to shake the anger and hate away, as well as the sudden contempt for herself at the enjoyment of it. She succeeded, if only partially. _What happens now?_ She asked herself, in an attempt to change her minds focus away from the scorched dead.

_The Concordat has been broken, at least it is with Skyrim. The Empire will have to renounce a further province now. Is that their wish? Has Tullius played directly into their hands? More war will come..._

Talia instinctively handled the pummel of her new blade. More unanswerable questions. _Ignore them. _She intoned to herself. She gripped the handle tighter.

The early hours of the morning had brought its own half-riddles and queries. Ones that Talia still could not answer. Despite this the Dunmeri spirits words had given her a direction, a purpose.

"_May it's flaming brand bring truth to your eyes and hope to your soul." _It had done so. Gone was the doubt gnawing away at her, she knew that her road lay to a crown, at least it seemed as such.

"_...Heiress of the Stormcrown and Twilight's daughter..." _The Greybread's had _voiced _a similar thing.

..._And they spoke of Ysmir too._

All Nords knew of Ysmir. Of Hjalti Early-beard. All of Tamriel knew of his other names.

_Tiber Septim, Talos. The ninth divine and God of man..._

"My lady. My lady Talia." Her Housecarl Jordis again said. Talia barely heard her.

"Yes." she replied, almost absently. Still thinking inwardly.

"Are you okay...?" the Sword-Maiden questioned.

The query jarred Talia from her silent recollection. Returning her again to the present.

_The future must wait for its own due._

"I'm fine Jordis, I'm fine." she stated over the throng of noise.

_'Dragonborn.' 'Dragonborn.' _Went their chants now as Odahviing rose to the air.

The gusts from his massive wings sent ash, soot and the smell of charred flesh towards the pair, as it too blew out much of the Dovah's own deathly flames.

"Deaths own scent." her Housecarl stated indifferently.

"Indeed. More will follow." At Talia's words, Jordis simply nodded. A sense of silent understanding crossed between them.

Valen Tullius stood but metres from her, ordering the Fourth's Imperial Officers and Legionnaires. Yet when the General's sight saw her chilled stare, he marched directly towards her, a sudden look of grief crossing his face.

_He's the Empire's man through and through, like my father... to do this... Does he know what this means?_

Tullius stopped about a metre away. Then uttered a phrase that held both sadness and regret.

"We're all traitors now." The affirmation was true, at least from the viewpoint of the Imperial City and Cyrodiil.

"I noticed. Many of the Eighth Legion might have also. There was no mention of Decimation for them." Talia quickly replied.

That statement appeared to shake him momentarily. Yet Tullius recomposed himself within a near instant.

"Legate Seutonis' and his two cohorts will see what I've seen. They'll accept that Empress Leonara's ascent to the Throne was off the back of Murder and High Treason."

_...and if he does not?_

Talia knew all too well what would happen. Legion against Legion. _Another __Stormcrown Interregnum..._

"And what of your elven contingent? Your Altmer and Bosmer?" _and Dunmer_. she mouthed silently. Unlike the General's previous reaction, his words and features at this question appeared assured.

"They have no love for the Thalmor, I can tell you that much. Hence why they are in the Legion. That bloody order of Decimation applies to them too. Do you suspect spies? Infiltrators? Those that are will be dealt with."

_They better be. This breaking of the Concordat won't be kept quiet for long..._

Talia left it unsaid, instead turning to the matter which the Jarl of Windhelm had come for.

"The Moot. It must be done quickly, especially after _this_." She stated bluntly. Knowing full well Tullius understood. The near eradication of the Thalmor in Solitude changed everything.

"I'll have_ my _Stormcloaks send out couriers once more. It'll be in a weeks time, no longer, General. I suspect the Silver-blood's may attend the Moot now, under these new circumstances. If the Jarl's do not come..." she paused, emphasising her last words. "...then we'll make new ones."

Talia's voice sounded forceful and commanding. Indeed, some part of her recoiled at how she'd just spoken to a General of the Imperial Legion. She waved the qualms away however. Her path was now set, a High Queen would return to Skyrim. One that did not bow to the Aldmeri Dominion or cast it's faith of the nine Divines into the Cesspit's of Peryite's realm.

_Just as Ulfric wanted... except I don't wish the Empire destroyed. A Skyrim in the Imperium not cast away from it._

General Tullius simply nodded in affirmation.

"I'll get them sent now." Valen obeyed, at that he turned, going again to the Legionnaires close towards her, those that still held Elenwen, who was now bound and gagged. Talia could hear the orders again being given. Orders she'd just uttered.

_The Governor of Skyrim follows my lead. My words... _It startled her.

The chants began to recede after that. Slowly diminishing bit by bit. Talia could now make out some of the shrieks of the two surrendered Thalmor. They were now being bundled to Dour's Dungeon, the duo didn't put up a fight,yet their cries were fearful and bound with dread. Phrases and singular words came forth mismatched and pleading, completely incoherent to her ears.

They appeared to her eyes as but husks, remnants of their former being. Once haughty, proud and arrogant. Those Altmer were now mere shells of themselves. Even at such a sight, she felt little pity.

_They gave none to the people of the Imperial city._

The Mad God would have his due with those, it was a certainty.

Talia looked to her Sword-maiden as the two Thalmor disappeared into the Imperial Bastion. Letting the memory of them slide from her thoughts. _Better not to linger on the woes of an enemy._

"Jordis." Her Housecarl straightened. Awaiting the command to come.

"I have a meeting to attend. I've seen enough of Dour this day. Besides _my _Storm-blade's will be anxious to see me I'm sure. Go at once and tell them of this. Make all of it known to them. Leave out no detail. I'll be there shortly."

_Let them hear this tale before I reach them. They'll take it better, off a... a full Nord. _She admitted to herself, resentfully.

_They'll soon forget my dark elven blood though, when I inform them of what comes next._

Talia Indoril was certain of it. Ambassador Elenwen and General Tullius as well as the Imperial Cities machinations had left the concept of peace precariously out of their grasp. The Snows of Skyrim would again be laced with crimson and the laments of her dead.

_But it will not only be my mothers homeland..._

Blood would flow everywhere, unending until at last, the reforged Crystal tower lay again toppled and the Thalmor and their beliefs shattered and broken into dust. Like Saarthal of old, the Aldmeri Dominion would have it's own Night of tears. Their days would be numbered, and their dreams filled with fear.

For to have peace, the Children of Shor would have to prepare for war, once more. She only hoped her oration skills were up to the task.

* * *

"_The Storm insurrections. The first hid the second, until it was already ordained. It is a marvel how a rebellion against the Empire could positively transform it._

_Once Cloaked then Crowned. Even Ulfric, dear I say it, would have been proud." _

_**- From "The Lost histories of Tamriel. 3nd Edition." By Prior Uriel Indorilius.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Outside of Solitude: Stormcloak's siege camp.**_ **_Ulfric's Pavilion._**

All had gathered, Thorald noted. The Storm-blades of the late Jarl's vast host were now assembled in Ulfric's pavilion. His brother Avulstein stood closely to his right. _He looks __to protect me, even now._

Thorald was the only Nord in attendance not to hold the Storm-blade title. The youngest Grey-mane was Ice-veined now, blooded and frost-kissed on the glacial shores of Winterhold after his return to freedom a few months ago. He had been rescued by the Dragonborn herself. The one person this council of Storm-blades now conversed about.

_I only remember her face. Of all the things... just her face... what month was it? What day? _He couldn't place the time. Today however Thorald knew well enough of. It was a Sundas. A cool morning. Mild weather for a Nord, especially one such as he.

Arrald Frozen-Heart had joined the cadre just less than an hour ago. The wizened lieutenant had left his Seconds who still carried on fighting around Morthal. Now deliberately oblivious to the Imperial Legion currently a camp north of their position. The Frozen-Heart had wilfully ignored the banner of truce, believing that it was a ruse of some sort. Believing too that Ulfric was still alive.

_Aye! And it took my brother and the fevered words of Galmar 'No-fist' for him to even accept that he was wrong._

The full account had been told to him. From first to last, yet it did not matter. He refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of Merilis Indoril-Stormcloak.

_Stupidity..._

"You've brought dishonour to your own ancestors Winter-Oak! By the Nine! Bending the knee to a half-spawned Dark Elf! And the rest of you too, by Shor's bones it's a disgrace! Storm-blades? Hah! Sellswords more like! Trading honour for a look at some half-elven's teats I bet! Did she not bend her knees in front of all of you?!"

Those words bit and stung. Yet Thorald Grey-mane held his tongue at the slight at both himself and Talia.

_Talia... that's the name she uses for herself. She told me to call her that... not Merilis. That was her mothers name._

His elder brother Avulstein too held his anger in check. Despite the tell-tale signs of fury that had just appeared across his features, he remained silent.

Calder's reply came quickly enough and for all his credit the son of Clan Winter-Oak kept his composure. His voice still held the same fervour as the Frozen-Hearts, yet without the ire.

"Hold that tone Arrald! You did not see her power, the _Thu'um. _Aye, her father was a Dunmer but her mother weren't, she's a daughter of Skyrim! By Talos and Shor, she's a Nord and Ulfric's heir. The Jarl did not marry, he has no children. Therefore the Jarldom passes to Merilis."

"Hold my tone? Watch your mouth boy! I were killing pups like you before your Pa forgot to pull out of that whore you called a mother! If I were here, that half-elven harlot would have been met with my Hammer! Milk drinkers the bloody lot of you!" Arrald angrily replied.

_She's no harlot!_

Thorald couldn't take any more. The young Grey-mane finally spoke. His words and tone dripping with both annoyance, anger and frustration.

"And your Warhammer would now be plying it's trade in Sovngarde! She cannot be matched. She _should _not be matched. You'd not be here but for her! Alduin's Doom has come and passed, because of the Dragonborn, because of her! The women's only slight against the rebellion is her killing of Ulfric! And it was a challenge done in the old ways! All here now heard it, so open your eyes! We can not stand against a Dragon! For that is what she is!"

Uflric's tent descended into silence. The tension began to mount immediately, becoming utterly tangible in but a few seconds. Arrald was quick to anger and slow to forgive. A set of traits that could leave Thorald's ribcage smashed and sundered. Yet despite the Frozen-Hearts reputation, no tongue lashing came forth, nor did the swing of his great Warhammer.

"Thorald." He stated with surprising calmness. "I named and still name your Uncle Vignar to be my brother in all but blood. Shield-brother he is to me. Speak your piece then, you've seen how she is. What happened at Northwatch?"

And so he did. Of the parts Thorald could remember anyway. He'd tried to forget it once. Indeed he thought he'd done so, yet the memories returned like the winter frosts and autumn rains.

_Darkness... chains... then a light._

"I saw her, at my cell. She had the Thalmor jail gaoler open it for me. I thought the Empire had ordered my death. She was dressed in Imperial Segmentata."

Grumbles abound escaped the Storm-blades at that, yet he continued onwards with his tale.

"I thought the same... at first. I heard the keys, the lock click. The gaoler fell. A Dagger through the back it was, into the heart. An elven one, all golden. I remember that much."

_She undid my bonds. I nearly fell twice... she steadied me._

"There were others like me. Forty, maybe more. She released them all." He paused, now painfully aware of this new found remembrance.

_Eight dead, still chained and fettered. _One had been next to Thorald's cell. The steel shackles had ripped the poor souls flesh clean off to the bone. He'd struggled and in the end, his resistance killed him.

_The cries of pain I heard every night, they were his._

"I... don't remember much else. Just getting out."

_Nearly all of us got out. The Thalmor though. They had no chance..._

"Brother. Let the past lie still." Avulstein uttered. "I've heard your tale. From her own lips and yours. Arrald, it is as Thorald says. Merilis _is _Ulfric's rightful heir. She is worthy of it. The old ways held true, Galmar himself stood against her in the secondary challenge. No one else stood after that. No one disputed the succession. No one _could. _She is Windhelm's Jarl and head of Clan Stormcloak."

The Frozen-Heart held his stare, analysing the two Grey-manes. Whilst his left hand stroked his spiked beard, as if his mind was adjudicating their statements. Arrald appeared surprisingly thoughtful at the look of him.

"So it's as you say then. Worthy, aye. To a true Nord? What of Talos?"

It was Calder who answered.

"I've heard Talos' praise come from her lips. The _Thu'um_ too. Ysmir's voice. She is our Jarl and our future High Queen."

Affirmations of agreement at Winter-Oak's words followed. Himself included, yet Thorald too noticed the lack of emotion on a number of Storm-blades. The hidden disagreement.

_Kottir Red-Shoal..._

_Thorygg Sun-killer..._

_...even one-eyed Istar the Cairn-breaker. Are they all blind? Or do they fail to see? They all bent the knee and said their Oath. Same as me and everyone else here. Would they break it now?_

"What then Calder? To praise Talos is one thing but to do so openly in the hearing of those knife-eared Thalmor is another. The Frozen-Heart asks, _'What of Talos?'._" It was the Sun-killer who asked. A patriarch of the Falkreath Clan.

"Did you not hear me the first time Thorygg? She praised Talos! I cannot make it clearer than that. Ask her yourself when she comes!"

That got their attention. _'The Dragonborn's coming here?' _he heard Kottir question. Thorygg and Istar gasped at the revelation. Whilst more still nodded again in approval.

_My brother and Ralof Crown-keeper. Gonnar Oath-Giver too, even Yrsarald the Thrice-pierced. Three against and five for, including Calder. If the Frozen-Heart accepts her rule, the rest of the army will follow._

"Hah! So am I to bend the knee now or later?" Arrald asked, not quite sarcastically. There was a sense of acceptance in his statement that the other eight Storm-blades picked up upon quickly.

Yet before an answer was heard. An unbloodied raced into the Pavilion, her breath tired from excursion.

"My... my Thane... Storm-blade Winter-Oak!" she stammered in between inhalations.

"Calm! Stay calm. Get your breath back girl. What's the meaning of this haste and the interruption?"

The young Stormcloak did as she was bid and after a few moments she started anew.

"The Dragonborn..." she stuttered and paused.

"Spit it out lass!" The Frozen-Heart yelled, not unkindly.

"The Dragonborn... she's sent her Housecarl. Jordis the Sword-Maiden. She says she's got news, from the new Jarl herself."

At that the maiden walked in. _Sword-Maiden. _The young Grey-Mane saw Thorygg's hand go to his sheathed blade and Istar's to his Axe.

"Hold! Hold your steel! The pair of you!" Arrald bellowed.

Nearly unsheathed, Thorygg's sword begrudgingly found it's way back to its former place as to did Istar's war-axe. A look of anger however shone clearly across both of their features.

_They'll not be quick to forget that slight. _Thorald reasoned. His Uncle's Shield-brother however ignored it.

"Sword-maiden! Hah! I've heard the stories. A virgin Houscarl Hah! Are the stories true?"

The Housecarl went beetroot, yet she failed to answer. His allusions to her innocence continued. Bawdiness was another of the Frozen-Heart's traits.

"Hah! I'll take that as a yes! It makes my heart warmer knowing that! And everything else too. Hah! A hearth, a warm bed and a maiden Housecarl! All I need for a night to thaw me out, yet harden me up! Hah Hah!" Arrald bellowed, with more than a hint of mirth.

Nervous chuckles escaped the men in the pavilion. From all but him and Calder.

_It is not the time for jokes. What if this news is important!_

As if on cue the woman spoke, feigning complete ignorance to the Frozen-Heart and his unveiled insinuations.

"The Thalmor are dead. My Jarl's Dragon killed them. General Tullius had ordered their arrests. They attacked his Legionnaires." Talia's Housecarl stated matter-of-factly.

"Who told you this?" Calder questioned, disbelieving.

_Impossible. _Thorald simply thought. _Impossible, yet it is one of Talia's own Housecarl's who speaks._

"My Jarl herself. Merilis Talia of House Indoril and Clan Stormcloak. She wished it, though not in such an elaborate way."

Despite his short years, the Grey-mane had experienced much, yet even he appeared shocked at that. She continued in spite of the cadre's surprise. Her pace becoming more mannered as she shrugged off the frivolous remarks from the Frozen-Heart.

"She has placed the day of the Moot also. It'll be in a weeks time."

"Shor's bones! A week!" Thorald cried aloud, despite himself.

_My Uncle Vignar will be hard-pressed to get here and what of Laila Law-giver?_

"There's more." Jordis stated, her tone hiding a feeling of glee.

"General Tullius has renounced the new Empress, her consort and the White-Gold Concordat."

"Talos be praised!" His brother Avulstein shouted. Those words echoing the sudden shift of mood upon the Storm-blades around him.

Yet all Thorald could think about was _Talia. _

_It should be her we're praising. Our future High Queen._

"Hah! Hah!" The Frozen-Heart roared jovially. "Hah! Oblivion bugger me! Hah! Hah! I'll bend my knee to this new Jarl on those terms! Talos be praised!"

"Talos be praised indeed."

It was a new voice. A feminine one. Which had come from outside the pavilion entrée.

_I know that voice._ The Grey-mane realised, chuckling lightly at the timing of it.

Jarl Talia Indoril-Stormcloak entered soon after.

"My Lady." Jordis intoned, along with the Winter-Oak as he too noticed her presence.

The new Jarl of Windhelm was donned in the same armour in which she'd taken the old Jarl's head off. Indeed, the Dragonborn's long raven hair lingered upon her Ebon attire as it had done when asking for Ulfric's to yield days earlier.

_They'll not failed to notice that. Especially Thorygg._

A new blade however was at her hip. A sword of Dwemer craft yet curved. Like the blades of Alik'r and the Redguard which called the edges of that desert home. It sparkled fierily as the hearth-fire in the pavilion's centre sent forth it's touch. Yet upon closer inspection it appeared to Thorald that the blade gave off a light and flame of its own.

_A flaming curved sword... will wonders never cease._

Her eyes of stark grey too sparkled as they gazed about, fixing upon each of the Storm-blade's individually.

Analysing, assessing it seemed, then... they landed upon him. A warm smile crept to her lips at once.

"It is good to see you again Thorald. You look well." she said, kindly.

_By the Gods, my memory did not do her justice! _He realised at once however that he was staring mutely.

"I'm well, my Jarl..." Thorald uttered at last, bowing his head deeply.

It was mostly done in an attempt to hide the newly brought crimson upon his cheeks. As he again looked up, Talia's features had turned, moving again to those she knew and reviewing those she did not.

"Ralof. It's been a long time since we spoke properly." he heard Talia say.

"And you my... Jarl." the native of Riverwood said, hesitantly.

No menace was there however. No hostility.

_How could there be. Talia saved him as well as me, if the tales of Helgen are true._

She continued, ending at last on Arrald. The one Storm-blade who hadn't professed his loyalty. Frozen-Heart spoke first.

"Well! Your not so bad. By Shor, you'd pass off as one of my ex-wives! You sure your Pa was a Dunmer?"

"I'm sure. And your name Storm-blade?" Talia asked coolly.

"Arrald. Of Clan Frozen-Heart." he said, suddenly bereft of humour. The edge of her tone sounded fierce and icy. Even Thorald noticed it.

_I've never seen him cut short before and not rise up in anger. He's maimed people for less. _It was a marvel in itself.

"My Jarl." the Storm-blade said at last.

Arrald's tone was now serious yet sincere. He went to a knee as he placed his mighty Warhammer's pummel up from the sodden grass beneath their feet. Holding onto his weapon, he began;

"I, Arrald of Clan Frozen-Heart swear my Clan, blood and honour to you. Merilis Stormcloak-Indoril, Jarl of Windhelm and true High Queen of Skyrim. As Talos and Shor be my witness, this will oath bind me to death and to Sovngarde, and to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Your sword is my sword. Your enemies are are my enemies, Dragonborn. My Warhammer is yours."

It ended finally.

"I accept your oath. Rise Arrald Frozen-Heart. Rise and prepare your men for battle against our true enemies. All of you, do the same." It came forth with an innate sense of authority. She carried on quickly.

"After the Moot is done and Skyrim has it's new Queen. Our new war begins." Talia said pausing slightly.

"The Thalmor would have us wait here meekly. Readying ourselves for Legions to come north once more, our own kin from days long past. I'll not give them the chance. Soon, in weeks perhaps months, they will find out what happened in Solitude today, as will the pretender behind the Imperial Throne..."

Listening intently, Thorald leaned further forward eager to hear her every word.

"...They too will find out how a General of the Imperial Legion realised that without Talos or Skyrim, the Empire is but a shade, a shadow of what it once was, a puppet on a string, not worthy of it's proud name. The Aldmeri Dominion wanted this war. We'll give them one they'll never forgot!"

Arrald roared and Avulstein clapped. Many more were nodding their heads in approval. Thorald even noticed a slight grin upon Istar Cairn-breaker's lips. Talia continued onward, unabated at the Frozen-Heart's din.

"We are the children of the Skyrim! Who's ancestors fought Dragons and won. The Thalmor will find that victory wanting! Their Crystal tower will be rendered into molten glass! And every essence of the Thalmor will be erased! It's said that their ranks hold the greatest Mage's of this era. It'll matter not when they're bathed in Dragonfire!"

Cheers and hoots escaped the assembly of men. War was one their lips.

_The Thalmor will rue this day. For Talia comes._

* * *

_Authors notes._

_1. General Tullius is a Talos worshipper. Like many in the Empire (they just happen to have kept it a secret.)_

_2. I've given Ralof a last name. 'Crown-keeper'. You can all guess how he attained that ;).  
_


	8. Sacraments, Treason and Plot

_**Chapter eight: Sacraments, Treason and Plot.**_

"_Dear Valens,_

_The Nine smile upon you Brother. It has been many a month since we have spoken face to face, a great shame. What I write to you now however is of further import than any familial correspondence. _

_A cloud of deceit and perfidy hangs over the Imperial City. We all know who ordered the murder of the Emperor, Crown Prince Caius and his children. There are no illusions in my eyes, yet few face to see what is clearly in front of them. Certain forces of the Council wish to tear our Empire apart. I ask myself why, yet I know not. All I do know is that action must be taken. I have spoken and consulted with others of like-mind, those who also fear and resent these new developments surrounding the ruby throne._

_I implore you to follow our cause and forthwith, march swift and hard south to the Imperial City._

_Our Empire's reckoning awaits us Valens, may we hold fast and true._

_Your loving Brother,_

_Marius."_

_**- Missive of Elder Council member, Duke Marius Junius Tullius to his brother General Valens Tullius. Dated and Intercepted on 1**__**st**__** Sun's Dawn E4 202.**_

_**County Kvatch: Kvatch. Castle Maro. The Great Hall.**_

The Fox, sigil of Kvatch and her Count in perpetuity, cast a sinister shade upon his heart. It stared down upon him with eyes of predatory cunning, peerless white orbs which had seen untold cruelty and deception of the worst kind, deeds which it had been privy to, as well as actions that had been committed against it.

Yet the fresco that stood vigil in the Great Hall was grand, every bit as so, however it was only now that Octavian Tullius noted it for what it was. A display of eternal power, a show of strength to all beneath Julius Maro, true Count of Kvatch and one of the few confidante's of the late Titus Mede. The second Emperor to have been graced by that name.

Embroidered images elsewhere still bore the great deeds of House Goldwine and Pinder, of noble King Justinius, who's progeny in some form or another had held Kvatch as far back as the First era. Maro was merely the newest dynasty in a long line of families to bear the mark of the Black Vulpes and of a great many now extinct House's to hold the flame of rebellion in their hearts.

A gambit and foolhardy stand. And one in which he'd only been told of days before. His wife Belene and Count Julius Maro's youngest and only daughter had already known. Near everyone of import in Kvatch had in fact.

_Of course, it's because they do not trust a Tullius. Iconic, our loyalty makes us somehow duplicitous._

Octavian's thoughts were correct. They should not have trusted him with such treacherous ideas. The Tullius dynasts were loyal to the Empire, and whomever held the diadem. Both by law and edict, Leonara was now Empress. His allegiance and his father-in-laws was to her, and her alone. Despite what men and women alike whispered, Motierre was her Consort, and merely that.

Yet more now uttered, it was he and not Leonara who held the reins of power. Others still held treasonous thoughts, mutterings of the Imperial couple themselves conspiring in the death of the late Emperor, the Crown prince and his two young children. It was preposterous, simply put. The Empress wouldn't have allowed the deaths of her mother and sister just to sit the ruby throne, let alone her own cousins.

Since the days he'd been informed, he'd held the impression it was the fierce rivalry and near hatred between Kvatch and Skingard. The seat of power of House Motierre since the abdication of the infamous Sorcerer-Count Hassildor nigh on one hundred fifty years ago. It was a belief Octavian still quietly professed. But for his wife's sake he'd held his tongue and as of yet had refused to send word of the potential treachery of Kvatch to the Imperial City.

Alas it was another thought that stayed his hand fully. He'd heard no word from his father or even from the families holding of Aurus upon the Niben Basin. Only a missive from three weeks prior. The letters words were still held sombrely in his mind. Yet it was a mere few sentences that continued to hold him in loyalty to the Count of Kvatch.

"_Julius is a true friend and loyal to the Empire. Follow his direction for he too knows my own thoughts on the Emperor's death and the Imperial family. As well as that of his own son and grandson."_

He was of the Legion and the Empress was his commander, however, his fathers message held him fast as did his post in the City he now lived. Octavian was Kvatch's Captain of the guard, a position given to only the most truest and trusted individuals. It was also more often than not, a position held by a member of House Maro.

_Yet the Count picked me. _It's was an honour. The post had remained vacant for a time as Gaius Maro, the Count's only grandson had held it until joining his father in the Penitus Oculatus, merely a year ago.

_Now they are both dead._ Octavian thought morosely.

He'd become a fast friend of Gaius in the months before he left for the Imperial city and then Skyrim. When news reached Kvatch that the youngest Maro was a traitor, he refused to believe it. Julius Maro too had been wroth at the accusation and it was only Octavian's darling wife who'd stayed the Counts hand against the unfortunate courier.

He sighed heavily, as finally the young Tullius' eyes moved away from the ever watchful Fox which bore down upon him. It was then that Octavian's sight immediately chanced upon his vision of perfection, his Lady-wife Belene. Who was now standing but a metre away.

_She moves like a Fox. I didn't hear her._

Despite that he grinned, as he caught site of her attire. Belene still wore her verdant sleeping gown whilst her auburn hair flowed wantonly about her shoulders. Her piercing green eyes which also complimented her dress, sparkled now more beautifully and when they touched his own, Octavian's heart leapt at the love held in her gaze.

"Husband. I feared you'd fallen for the Fox upon the wall. And why may I ask are you already dressed for your duties? Must I pounce upon you and pry off your armour also so you'll return to bed?"

A brisk laugh caught him at the comment. His smile too, continued candidly as his beloved's pout turned into a mischievous grin.

"So, are you coming back to bed? It is only eight. The dawn has barely seen an hour and I'm..." Belene's words trailed off as her eyes and features spoke the rest.

His emotions rushed forward yet his mind stilled. Finally, he nodded slowly, but the indecision, however small came through.

"What's wrong?" she questioned affectionately.

_Everything and nothing. _Octavian thought, yet his words held none of his uncertainty.

"Nothing, nothing. I'll be there in a moment, I was just thinking about my father."

"He'll be fine. I would not worry." she said, and in spite of her reassurance, Octavian knew she was worried also. Many had been questioning his fathers whereabouts in recent days. The Count and Belene included. Others still had been spreading wild rumours and despicable lies.

"I need to speak with your father." he stated cautiously. _He wishes me to speak with also._ Yet he left that unsaid.

Belene nodded knowingly, kissed him gently upon the lips then after a compassionate hug, she departed with a pleasant smile upon her face. Yet it was another few minutes before Octavian ventured towards the Counts solar.

Thankfully, when he arrived the Count was already awake. He too was attired and dressed for his daily duties. An obsidian garment laced with silver, adorned his chest and legs. Black boots, polished to an opalescent sheen were donned upon his feet whilst his balding russet brown and grey hair was combed neatly. At once, the Count's incisive grey-green eyes caught sight of him at the open entranceway.

A sombre smile crept to Count Maro's lips upon seeing him. It was followed by a cheerless beckoning that was filled with what the young Captain believed to be sorrow.

"Octivian, my... son... come in. You wished to have words with me, and I with you. Have your say first."

"My count, may I speak freely."

"Octavian. Speak to me as you would your own sire... please."

Count Maro's words still held an innate sadness but, they too brought some solace to Octavian conflicting thoughts. When he next spoke however, he continued to hold the caution and worry of days long past.

"I do not like this. Any of it. To rise up against the Empress..." Octavian said, knowing at once that he'd test his Good-fathers sullen yet defiant mood. Strangely however the reply came back cordially and composed.

"It is not the Empress or the Empire we face, but Motierre and the treasonous Elder council. Leonara is a pawn, no more. Merely a means to an end. That end is a future child of that usurper on the throne. I will not stand for it, or how it came to be. Treason brought him to within an inch of Talos' seat."

"...and treason is needed to take him down?" The question Tullius knew, was an immediate mistake. The sudden crimson pallor that shot across Julius Maro's pale features and his vehemence tone which followed, shook even he.

"We are no traitors Tullius! My grandson was no traitor! Yet now Gaius is dead and Sejanus too. My _only _living son murdered, protecting _our _Emperor. Your own father too, murdered in defiance upon learning the truth! Now I have but a daughter and _you_!"

_My father..._

A chilled silence held the Count's private solar in thrall then as Julius' features immediately turned crestfallen. It was broken after mere seconds, yet to Octavian it felt like an eternity.

"My father... what? What do you know...?" He said, as anger, sorrow and vengeance swelled, burned and then bristled inside of him.

"A courier came in the night. Your father's dead. I'm... sorry." Julius' pained expression returned, as his features drained. The Counts anger was now gone, once again replaced with grief.

"The whole Elder Council signed the death warrant son. All but myself and Farwil. I haven't seen the Imperial city since word reached us of the Emperor's death. I... didn't know."

The answer did not quell his anger and as Octavian questioned, his fury increased.

"How. Did. He. Die?"

"A public execution. That's all the letter informed me. Here, read it."

Octavian did so fervently and upon scanning the missive for himself, he could scarcely believe what he saw.

"_...the public execution of Duke Marius Junius Tullius on the charge of High Treason... _

…_The Attaintment of the Tullius name and the Crowns seizure of their lands, incomes and titles held..."_

Yet whose words weren't enough, none of it would be now. The realisation struck hard. All the rumours of treason, murder and deceit about the Consort and his Empress were true. Treachery brought them to the seat of sundered Kings. Only the same would rip them off it.

_Divine's forsake them and cast them all into Oblivion! _

Octavian turned upon his heels and paced back towards the Great Hall. Defiance now fed his soul and the embers of hatred roared through heart. He continued despite the heeds of Count Maro to halt, it was only upon hearing a further voice that he stopped dead in his tracks.

_Belene..._

He turned, now seeing a coupling of Guardsman behind him. The Count and his own wife amongst the grouping.

"Octavian!" Julius roared. "Do you hope to destroy the Usurper single-handedly?"

It was a question he had no answer to, for the young Tullius had no men, no army; only rage and a burning passion that was now... slowly subsiding into cold, hard pragmatism.

His place as husband to Belene and Captain of Kvatch were the only area's that brought him a capability to act and power to see justice done. His fathers lands on the Niben may well have been pillaged and his sworn-swords murdered to the last, Tullius had no way of knowing. Would Aurus rise up in support if he ventured there himself despite his families attainted status? It was a question, which he held no answer to. It was only his uncle who held a position of strength and he'd not heard news from Valens and the Skyrim rebellion since the fall of Winterun to the Stormcloaks. Octavian didn't even know if his uncle still lived... there was no other option.

_Julius wanted my loyalty first. Now he'll have it, fully. Unconditionally._

"No. No... I need help, father." came his despondent reply.

"Then you shall have it." Count Maro paused, taking in a deep breath. Then, as before his voice once more thundered out in command yet again. This time, Octavian heeded the call.

"Raise the levies Captain Tullius; and rally the Banners! We are marching to war."

* * *

"_Always make sure your ingredients for a potential potion are exact. Do not 'wing' it. Most of all class, never assume it'll be right. That'll make an ass out of you and me. You most of all. I will not be held responsible for the accidental ingestion of fatal potions."_

_**- Second Adjunct**_ _**Daric Onis of the Synod. Speaking in an Acolyte's seminar. 'A student's guide to basic Alchemy'.**_

_**The Imperial City: White-Gold Tower. The Imperial Arcanaeum.**_

Reading. It's all she seemed to do since... word of her family.

The nineteen year old Leonara had admittedly never been close to her Imperial cousins. Caius was near fifteen years her elder whilst Titus happened to be younger than her mother Alexia by mere months, the late Emperor's own aunt. Leonara herself had been born late, conceived on the forty first year of her mother Alexia's life. She'd been heralded as a miracle in beating the Masser cycle before her mother ceased to bear children at the Lunar-clocks end.

Now...they were all gone. No divine intervention had stopped the atrocities inflicted or smote down the assassin's baring their infernal blades.

_Only my father remains to me. The only close kin I have...yet even he..._

Her advisor's screamed of an Thalmori plot or even seditious Nobles who wished to destabilise the Empire. _Her _Empire.

All Leonara really cared for however had been taken away. Despite her distance with Caius, his children were another matter. Titus, the young prince, was of near age to her at fifteen. They'd played with each other since their childhood and despite them being merely 2nd cousins, Leonara thought of him as a younger brother. A male sibling she never had. Little Emelia too was a joy to behold. The tiny Princess had been born close to her own fourteenth birthday. They murdered her when she was but five. A defenceless child at the beginning of life.

_May the Eight watch over them both._

Leonara had wept for close to a month, horrified at the news pouring in from County Bruma and the Nordic city of Solitude. Her elder sister Vittoria dead, her mother too. She only hoped Arkay would embrace them gladly and guide all her kin to Aetherius.

_Now it's just me, with a crown too heavy and a throne too big. I never wanted this._

And so she isolated herself within the Imperial Arcanaeum of the White-Gold tower. One of the very first places in the New Imperial Palace fully refurnished and rebuilt since the sack. It was there she read and read until her eyes ceased to take in the parchments words. The towered palace was to be her new residency and home, her Council members reiterated. Rather than the Imperial Bastion which had, until recently been the seat of governance in the Empire.

In truth, The White-Gold tower felt more akin to that of a prison, much like that of the Bastion itself. An impressive holding cell that even now after over twenty five years, still bore the marks of Thalmor Magicka and Siegecraft despite the reconstruction efforts.

Leonara hadn't walked the streets unguarded since her precipitous Coronation. One her _dear _husband had driven her into accepting in spite of her precarious state of mind. The Emperor's body had yet to return to Cyrodiil for burial in the Greenway yet the Council as a whole had deemed it _necessary_, for the continuity of the Imperium. She cried throughout, uncaring at the break in tradition. Tears had streamed onto her Ruby-Gold attire endlessly, as the archpriest of Akatosh placed the Red Dragon crown upon her brow.

She hated them for it. The whole ceremony was a disgrace. The majority were sycophants who proclaimed their undying love for their new Empress and their endless devotion and loyalty also. Where had that love and loyalty gone with their previous Emperor? She saw no tears upon their cheeks, no sadness at his demise. The High Lords and Nobles did not care.

_Only I wept, just me. No one else. Not even Amaund, that vile creature I call husband did not feign even a hint of sorrow._

It was he Leonara hated most of all. She had heard the stories, about his first wife Anastasia Terentius. Dead after a marriage of six years. The coupling bore him no children, a barren affair. It was a fever many said, much like the one which had taken Jocien, the _Old Duke _and Amaund's father. The very same illness with which his second eldest brother Esmond had succumbed too.

The _terrible_ tragedy of her _beloved's _family did not cease there. Jocien's eldest son, it was rumoured, had died in a hunting accident. Mauled to death by a bear on the West Weald. The guards had come too _late_, to save the heir of Skingrad. Everything in the way of her _darling _groom to be had _unfortunately_ been removed within the space of a year.

When his father had finally passed, Amaund, once a third son of four found himself _suddenly, _a Duke in his own right. He'd asked her father Crassius Vici, the Duke of Colovia for her hand in marriage. He accepted promptly in spite of a prior betrothal. Leonara's own sire had wilfully broken her destined marriage to Constans Umbranox of Anvil. Her father had sent her off to spend the rest of her days with _him, _in Skingrad instead...

"Leonara?"

The mentioning of her name startled her. Yet, thankfully she knew who spoke it. It came from one of the few persons left who still felt saddened at the Emperor's passing, as well as Leonara's close kin.

"Come. Please sit with me." Leonara whispered thinly.

"Of course. Have you supped today darling?" The frail feminine voice asked gently, as she slowly approached the desk-side seat adjacent Leonara's. Her wearied old joints making the movement difficult.

"Yes" she lied.

A laugh followed at the obvious falsehood. There was no way of misleading her.

She who had seen veiled truths and white lies as well as deception of the worst kind since her High Rock childhood. Her name was Elisa of Evermore. A Breton who happened to be Dowager Empress of Attrebus the third, Leonara's Uncle and Imperial mother of the late Titus, her cousin. In the past month, the wizened elder had become closer to her than anyone.

"You need to keep your strength up, you _have_ been ill of late." Elisa lectured. Of course, at past eighty years old, she must have done something right.

"Yes auntie Elisa. I will."

Her aunt scoffed harmlessly at her response. Often the pair would just sit, read and talk all night. Topic's cropped up ranging from the ancient histories of the past Era's to the price of fish the angler's sold on the Waterfront. Anything _but _the events that brought her to the diadem. It... was pleasant.

"So, what book is it this evening?" Elisa enquired, as always.

"_The Exodus. _By Waughin Jarnath..." she re-checked quickly, "Jarth even."

"Ah, I know of his works. I've read many myself. _A dance in fire_ and the _Wolf Queen _mostly come to mind however. I don't believe I've read this one. So young lady, what it's about?"

Leonara answered assuredly, despite the fact she'd only read the first few pages.

"It's about a sickly child named Dralla. Her parents want her to be a Princess but fates taken a different turn, she's destined to die because of a grave illness. They're trying to find a place called Olenveld? Is that made up?" A kind natured smile crossed Elisa's aged features at the question.

"Oh maybe, maybe. It might well be simple allegory, a work of fiction?"

"Perhaps..." Leonara said hesitantly.

"You know, when I was your age. I never sat in a library all day and night pondering whether a story was fiction or non-fiction."

"But you're nearly a hundred years old. How would you know, can you remember that far back?" she teased.

A great cackle escaped Elisa at that, rendering her squarely upon her seat as she chuckled away.

"Hah hah! I'll have you know, I'm no where near one hundred!" she retorted merrily. "At least you missed out the 'old crone' bit. Titus used to call..." Elisa stopped.

The mention of her son, sent the ever present realisation down upon them both. Leonara said nothing. There was naught to say. Fortunately however, it was the Dowager Empress herself who broke the awkward silence.

"Do you love your husband?"

The question shocked her. Not a soul had asked her that, not one. The query however was personal. She'd always been taught by both her mother and father to tread carefully when seemingly amiable individuals asked direct, private questions.

_...But father sold me off to the highest bidder and broke a betrothal in the process. No dowry was offered, only a Bride price. Amaund bought me. _The mere thought sickened her. The only positive she could garner now from her Imperial position was that Leonara could and had said _no_ to his hideous advances. Yet _before..._

"Leonara? Are you okay?" Elisa asked, again with kindness.

She forced a smile. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Did you love yours auntie Elisa?" Leonara asked, clearly aware that she'd failed to answer the former question placed before her. To her Aunt's credit however she grinned slightly at the obvious reverse.

"Yes, very much so. Attrebus was a fine man. He was but a year my senior also. I was betrothed at fifteen and we were married two years after. It was one of the happiest days of my life."

Leonara looked to her knowingly.

"You want to know the happiest day dear?" Elisa replied, clearly aware of her newly found curious look. Leonara nodded expectantly.

"When Titus was born. My only child. We tried so hard for more, yet the... Eight refused to heed my prayers." she paused then, a look of sorrow written across her features. This time it was Leonara who broke the lingering silence.

"I... hate my husband aunt Elisa. I hate him! Everything he wants rid of disappears or dies! I've learned in Skingrad's own library Hall, the accidents that have befallen his close kin. Anyone... anyone, who's in his way has found themselves... removed. Why else... why..." she hesitated, heartbroken at her hidden revelation.

Tears again traversed her cheeks, dropping onto the half read novella which lay upon her lap. Splodges of dampness, washed away the inks as it fell. Turning _the Exodus_ into a flood ridden mess.

"Why else... would he marry you and kill _everyone _that was ahead of you in the line of succession?" Elisa stated coldly, as she finished Leonara's unsaid sentence. The thought was something that had dwelt within her mind for days and weeks at a time. It had gnarled at her spirit to even think she'd been an unwitting agent in his heinous crimes. Yet there was no proof, nothing to expose him with.

_Even as Empress I can but watch..._

"Yes..." Leonara answered, still heart-stricken. Elisa simply asked a further question.

"When did you last bleed?"

_What...? _she didn't know. When had it been? Today was a Tirdas, the twenty third of Sun's dawn. The last time Leonara remembered was-

"Evening star." she said, dejected at the revelation behind it. _Two months._

Elisa merely stared at first, her features varnished with a sense of grief. Her expression quickly changed however, turning into what Leonara thought to be sincere happiness.

"Pray it will be your mothers grandchild, a Mede. For I surely shall."

It was after that when Elisa rose to her feet. Carefully moving to a rarely used bookstand, the daughter of Evermore gingerly brought out a dusted tome from its place of age old rest.

"Here. Read this." she mouthed.

"What's it called?" Leonara queried cautiously.

"_A Game at Dinner_. There's no author I'm afraid but I believe you'll find it useful in any future endeavours. You shall have to learn quickly darling, very quickly indeed."

* * *

"_What is the colour of night? Sanguine, my brother."_

_**- Cheydinhal Sanctuary door.** _

_**The Pale: Dawnstar. Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.**_

"Does our humble sanctuary scare you my sweet?" Laenafil purred insidiously.

Yvara Renault the Breton, all now donned in the crimson and sable attire of the Brotherhood, appeared melancholy, almost _guilty, _despite her sanguine induction into the Night Mother's cold, loving embrace. The pretty petite soul had been an official initiate for but five days yet she barely touched her food or drink. Moreso when she did not train within the armoury, she slept almost endlessly. And when Vaermina held sway upon her dreams, she wept openly for all to hear.

_It is unbecoming._

"No Listener. I'm sorry if I've caused offence."

"_She has no need to apologise my child. Nor is it unbecoming of her."_

Laenafil inwardly flinched at the unwelcomed intrusion, yet to the Breton before her, she showed nothing, only the same lustrous smile. Her thoughts however told a different tale.

_Why Spectre? Crying over her murder? It was done willingly._

"_Mayhaps, it is not poor Fultheim's death that causes her ill. We are family Listener. The Night mother, the Dread father and everyone else. All children of darkness under two parents if you would indulge me. Speak with her like you would a younger sister, one who needs guidance and our shrouded protection."_

_I shall consider your advice. _Laenafil acquiesced mildly. _You are right of course._

"_Aren't I always sweet Listener? Aren't I always."_

"...Listener?"

The Breton's voice startled her abruptly.

_I was lost in my thoughts... through negligence. I must remain composed. Speak not with me when others are near Lucian. _

Thankfully no reply came forth, a fortuitous thing for both Laenafil and her own sanity.

_Good._

The Bosmer, of course, recovered quickly. Turning the new found confusion upon precious Yvara's features into a thoughtful look of her own.

"Why do you cry at night sweet sister? What troubles you? We are family here after all, and I am your Listener so let me hear you." Laenafil said, surprised at her own mild gentleness.

The response however was anything but gentle. Renault's features tensed as eyes of iced cerulean glared menacingly from out of her shrouded hood. The Breton's teeth gritted just for the scantiest of moments as did the snarl which accompanied it. Then as if it were never there, those features were gone, veiled once more in a glamour of feigned innocence.

"I do not know of which you mean Listener." Yvara said. The lie plainly obvious to one such as her.

"Of course, my mistake. Still I am here to listen if you need me however."

"Thanks. May I go?" Renault answered abruptly, no doubt glad the brief conversation was near it's end.

Laenafil merely waved her off. As Listener, she was done hearing her new prospective siblings for the eve. Renault turned about, walking quickly away from her and as the footfalls of the female Breton fell to nothingness, Laenafil knew she was alone at last.

_A destitute stammerer of a Dunmer with eyes fierce and sinister. Now a Breton, pure as white with a talent for glorified pyromancy and dark painful secrets. How have our family come to this..._

"_Silence my Listener... we do not choose our family. Each have their own merit. Beware of hubris and your own sense of superiority. What of you before Astrid found you?"_

Not quite alone.

Again the Spectre's voice struck a cord. Yet this time Laenafil listened, for when she had not, events and actions seemed to teeter upon a precipice of disaster. She responded to Lachance's question, already knowing he held the answer.

_An assassin for the Thalmor, broken and bloodied upon the snow. We Bosmer are not even... true Thalmor. Even our Altmeri brethren looked down upon us! By the void! They left me to die! 'Equals' in the Aldmeri Dominion yet in principle we are fodder..._

"_Ah, a downtrodden race with feelings of inequality, despite what your 'wise' leaders said? How are you any worse to our Dark elven brother or even every Orc and beggar? They who have seen depravity, scorn and brutality first hand. Yet you... born with a silver spoon-"_

"Silence! Enough! Do not mock me!" Laenafil cried aloud.

"_As you wish Listener, yet the truth hurts more than any veiled lie, however alluring it may seems to your ears."_

"I said silence! Speak when you have some sense to say!"

This time no other voice echoed in her mind. No remarks of hollow apology or cynical subservience, nothing. Laenafil sat upon her rest-chair and simply waited, just to see if Lachance's words would cross and tangle within her thoughts. Seconds and minutes went by with nary a sliver of occurrence. Her mind was her own again. The indomitable Spectre had gone.

_I need to kill something._

She hadn't heard silence quite like this for near two years. It was disconcerting, almost frightening to her. Only a target, one dripping with crimson and lifeless upon the white would focus herself and remove these unwanted emotions.

The armour which garbed her would suffice. The silk dresses and garments, Imperial and Stormcloak garb, smith & chef aprons and all the other attires she'd picked up in her time would stay. Laenafil wished for no trickery and deceit for this murder. The colour of fire and darkness which toned her creeds fine vestments would be a welcome change to the knavery, subterfuge and Illusion she was want to normally use.

_My daggers, my shortbow and a quiver. _It was all she needed.

Laenafil already knew who her unfortunate marks would be. _A shame they did not march with the rest of their Legion. _An Imperial company had stayed behind to bolster the depleted Dawnstar garrison. For the past few days, the Empire's dogs had split into meagre patrols of five. One of these cadre's had crept precariously closer to _her_ home. It was an inevitable thing in foresight, they would die anyway if their stupidity brought them further and Laenafil needed to kill.

It wasn't long before she'd departed the Sanctuary. It was at the Black door when Laenafil was struck fiercely by the light of Nirn's two moons. Both exerted dominance upon the night and availed any that feared darkness. It was no matter, shadows held fast behind every corner and the divided remains of the trickster _Lorkhan_ would not prevent her from the kills she had self-appointed.

Laenafil readied herself, Dawnstar's north-eastern lighthouse and the cliffs above the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary would suffice. It'd be a brisk assent but the Bosmer's view upon the snow-laced beach which bordered the Sea of Ghosts and the cliff-path below would be critical. The radiance of Secunda and Masser would also benefit her line of sight. It happened to be quite fortuitous indeed.

"Thank you. A shame your sons will die by my hand Lorkhan. May many more continue to die."She mouthed silently to the cloven deity above. Scorn enveloped her words despite the whispered tone.

As Laenafil knew, the pathway upwards was refreshing but somewhat ponderous with the silence about her thoughts. Yet when the Bosmer finally reached the pinnacle of the cliff she knew the task undertaken was a correct one. Dawnstar's northern most lighthouse was nestled close to the edge, it's four pillars cradling a dome which held the barest of embers to signal the way to safety. As much as she'd enjoy causing further death by snuffing the fire out, it wasn't the reason she was here.

As Laenafil peered southwards, the settlement of Dawnstar thrice coiled around the Bay of Dawn like the entrails of a man hewn and relieved of his intestines. A serpentine community with the highest strata of it's Nordic population upon the top, with all others below. It's lights twinkled fervently, splaying dapples of luminescence all about. Even there however, darkness and shadow sheltered around each and every niche and obstacle. The Void always found a place.

_And five Imperial souls will join the Dread Father there tonight._

Of course, Laenafil was not soon in waiting. From where the putrescent settlement of the Nord's held place, came a quintet of Imperial Legionnaires, slowly ambling in conditions they were simply not used too. But for over-cloaks of wolf-skin, these soldiers donned in leather and scant chain-mail were obviously unprepared for Skyrim's northern snows and tundras.

The detachments usual route took them westwards and down from the place she now lay. The five would march below her for a small time and that is when she would strike.

She waited. A bow in her right hand and two arrows within the other.

_Eight more steps._

They continued their motion, slowly, ever slowly. These men and women were walking blind to their death. Joking and howling about some apparently blessed news. It gave her a smile of rapturous glee.

_Five more steps._

The wind was barely a breeze, not even a flake of snow fell to affect her shot. There'd be no interruptions.

_Three steps..._

Laenafil nocked her paired arrows and drew her shortbow immediately afterwards. The Bosmer's breath stilled as the patrol finally passed beneath her. In swift one motion she lifted herself from a crouch, aiming for the two Imperial's which carried the rear of the group. Her fingers loosed, the bow's spine flexed and an unmistakable twang echoed wordlessly through the incandescent twilight.

Both arrows hit.

One pierced through the soft wolf-hide and hard-boiled leather which appeared to defend the Imperial's back and shoulders. It did not. The armour of course, was doubly inadequate for both Ebony Bodkin's and the weather. Laenafil's target flailed forwards vainly and collapsed upon a terrified colleague ahead, knocking them both over and off the pathway's cliff edge.

_Two now bound to Sithis with but one arrow. Utter Perfection._

Her second arrow flew truer, burying itself within the rear of a female Legionnaires neck, silencing her instantly. Her corpse fell wantonly as blood laced out from the wound she had produced. The colour turning the stark, dourly tundra and cliff-wall which flanked her into a glorious saturnine crimson. The Bosmer's grin widened.

_Beautiful._

Now the dagger-work would begin. Leaving her Shortbow upon the rocks, Laenafil leaped downwards, landing softly on the snow that powdered the path beneath, then she _ran. _The Bosmer unsheathed both dagger's simultaneously in a speed most would consider unnatural and as she spurred forward, Laenafil new that this bloody affair would be over in seconds.

Two Imperials now remained, both males. They of course would have usually showered her in vulgarities and racial slurs if they had seen her elsewhere, yet not now. The defiant twosome held their Shields forwards, intertwining their protective barriers between each other, the Era's old Legionary tactic for defence against archery, when used in greater numbers. Laenafil simply continued her sprint. Then at the last moment, she fell using her momentum to slide beneath the hapless pairs aegis', swiftly scything both of their undefended upper legs. Cries of pain shot forth from the hamstrung pair, as Laenafil again leapt up from the now scarlet snow.

The Listener was behind them.

Quickly and effortless, as the labouring Imperials lingered now forlornly upon their gore-stricken legs, Laenafil buried her blades deep within their necks, ending them finally. More blood splayed out. Bathing her in a euphoric red haze of twined death and life.

_I feel... refreshed. _

"_**Refreshed indeed my sweet daughter. The feel of crimson upon your face, the baying of blood covering you from toe to hair tip. How I miss such sensations."**_

Laenafil straighten at the rhythmic tone. A voice only she could hear.

_Mother, you have not spoken at all today..._

"_**No, I have not child. I speak when I feel my name uttered in the night or when my Listener needs to hear and to learn."**_

A gulp escaped her throat at the last few words. Had she disappointed the Night mother?

"_**Disappointed? How can I be? You who have just slaughtered a company of souls at the prime of their lives. All because you wanted too. I am pleased. Yet let it be said that ignoring wise council from those far older than you is a mistake."**_

_Lachance..._

"_**Of course, Lucien Lachance! One of the Dread fathers most loyal servants. Do not disregard his advice upon mere childish whims daughter!"**_

Laenafil nodded meekly, unprepared for the sudden choler of the voice which normally sung graciously within her mind.

"_**Ah, sweet child. Fret not, you have been chosen for a purpose, I chose you for a purpose. Even families have arguments."**_

Again she nodded, this time with a sense of shame. _I told myself that I'd listen, yet all I ordered was __his silence._

"_**Gracious! What a way with words you have my sweet."**_

_I'm sorry dear mother. What else would you have of me in penance?_

"_**Penance? nothing. Yet I would have you listen now. For I have heard a black hymn of baptism. Spoken in the depths, within the White-Gold heart of a city most grand. And it whispers another name to me, merely two words."**_

_What name dark matron?_

"_**Valens Tullius."**_


	9. Ambition Overlord Cruelty

**Authors notes:**

_Thank you kindly for the reviews. It's much appreciated. I'm still working so the updates may take a while but have no fear. They will come. _

_Anyway, onwards to the next chapter._

* * *

_**Chapter nine: Ambition Overlord Cruelty.**_

"_Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not? I can be trusted. I know this. But they do not. Onikaan ni ov dovah. It is always wise to mistrust a dovah. I have overcome my nature only through meditation and long study of the Way of the Voice. No day goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature. Zin krif horvut se suleyk. What is better; to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"_

_**- The Dovah Paarthurnax in conversation with Talia Indoril.**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Proudspire Manor.**_

There was but one day left before the Moot began and for Talia it was an altogether dreadful revelation. Events, however, where moving smoothly and for that at least, she was eternally grateful.

The Silver-Blood's, for one, had found it necessary to attend despite their first refusal.

Thongvar Silver-blood, the self-styled Jarl of Markarth, had arrived on the 26th, the evening prior, bringing in tow his Housecarl Yngvar and a troupe of freshly named _Stone Sentinels_. They were merely Guardsmen of the city of the Reach, paid at a higher rate in Drakes from the Silver-Blood's near limitless coffers. Yet Talia had noticed the gilded bronze glint of their Shield rim's and the blades they bore. It marked them out as being armed with weapons and armour of the Deep elves, expensive armaments for Markarth Vigils. Thongvar too had traded his Steel for a Dwemer-brand. The Silver-blood's sword was half again as long as his Guardians' blades. _A Bastard Sword. _Talia realised upon seeing it. The half-way house between a Claymore and a sword of common length. It appeared to Talia that the delegation from Markarth apprehended violence or at least feared it would come to pass. A necessary precaution.

_Let us hope their precaution is unwarranted._

Other Jarls had arrived promptly, some even before the Moot had been officially dated. Brina Merilis and Igrod Ravencrone, of Dawnstar and Morthal respectively, had arrived within hours of one another.

The Legionary Veteran had accompanied the remainder of Tullius' Fourth Legion, commanding her own meagre forces from Dawnstar, in support of the General's main force. That was six days ago. Brina herself had entered Solitude unmolested yet ignorant of the then recent incident which had just happened in Dour's courtyard. _'The bonfire of the Thalmor.' _Many people had come to call it. To the Jarl of Dawnstar's credit, she took the news rather well, despite the ramifications.

The Ravencrone was another matter entirely. Morthal's Jarl, along with a small cadre of Guards, had simply bypassed the Stormcloak war camps surrounding her Holding. Not that they'd have assailed her anyway, for Arrald had promptly sent out messengers to cease all hostilities in Hjaalmarch. What was _more _surprising than the old Crone completely avoiding the forces of the Frozen-Heart until reaching Dragon Bridge, was that Idgrod, at the time, _wouldn't_ have received any news of the Moot or the Thalmor incident. The Jarl already _knew _of it_._

"_It is on the 28__th__ of Sun's dawn, is it__ not? The Moot? I'm a week early. Hopefully Solitude's hospitality is better than my own Morthal's of late. Well... not if I were an Altmer."_

Igrod had shown her a weary smile at the statement. It chilled Talia's bones even now. Ravencrone said other things as well. Yet much of it sounded like the inane ramblings of a truly addled elderly woman. _Of course, only a fool would actually believe that._

Jarl Korir Free-Winter of Winterhold was the latest to arrive as of yet. He and a company of ten reached the Uriel gate of Solitude this morning after riding hard through his own holdings, the Pale of Dawnstar and Hjaalmarch. This was according to her Housecarl Jordis at least. Talia had only seen him from afar as she stood upon the battlements. Korir himself was saturated with snow from head to boots, the same was true of his protectors and their mounts.

That left two remaining Jarls. Vignar Grey-mane and Laila Law-giver. Both had yet to arrive.

The vantage point from her first floor bedchamber windows gave her an excellent view of the Blue Palace way. She'd being essentially prying upon the comings and goings to the Palace since midday. The past hour however had been relatively quiet, the attending Jarl's had been given bed and board where available. In truth, everything had been _peaceful_. Only a brawl in the Winking Skeever had truly coloured the early afternoon.

As Jordis told it, an altercation between a Markarth man-at-arms and an a Breton Tribune from the 8th Legion had spilled out onto the street, turning a one on one fist fight into an affray between three Nordic Reachmen, a local Spellsword, Two Bretons, a Bosmer bartender and a Bard from Solitude's college. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt. A few bruises, a mangled lute and a couple of broken bones as well as the indignation of having a calming spell placed upon them by a 4th Legion Battlemage, was all they had to show for their misdemeanours. Oh and coin purses forty Septim's lighter.

When Talia's Housecarl told her the tale, she was in stitches with sheer laughter at its finale. Yet despite her mirth at the story, it was a marked sign. The bar fighting could well be a lesser prelude of the Moot to come. Prejudice and hatred built up over eras and intensified in the past two decades and in Ulfric's Rebellion itself would not be blown away as if dust upon the wind.

_It's never easy._ Talia knew.

Even now, with her senses set upon the Moot, other thoughts crowded her mind, nearly suffocating it. The echoes of the Dunmer, one of her own great grandfathers, still held Talia deep in thought much of the time. His words, riddles really, were something she could not decipher. Talia wasn't even sure if she wanted to.

Then there was her Jarldom. She'd never been to Windhelm nor had she a clue to what _her_ people's reaction had been at Ulfric's demise or her succession after the fact. How would they react to her parentage? She _was _a Nord, but would they see that, truly? Would her subjects in Eastmarch profane and insult her, like Galmar and her cousin, the nephew of her own mother...

Even the orders of Delphine and Esbern held fast at the back of her mind, in spite of her refusal to obey them. Paarthurnax lived still. She would not, _could _not have killed him. The Dragon's word had moved her immensely, "_What is __better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?_" yet even before hearing this Talia had committed herself to sparing the Dovah.

_They'll know Paarthurnax still lives, what will they think of Odahviing?_ The Red Dragon had died once before, long ago during the Dragon War. That wouldn't be enough though, the pair of veteran Blades would vent scorn upon her inaction with Paarthurnax and indeed her following actions with Odahviing. Talia could almost hear their irate and angered voices.

"...It's never easy." She said, echoing her earlier thought.

"My Jarl, visitors." The voice came from Jordis the Sword-maiden.

That intrigued her, no one as of yet had come unexpectedly to her residency. The illusion of Talia's stay in the Emperor's tower had blown away quickly, yet even so, few disturbed her household, especially when Imperial Legionnaires guarded the perimeter and Jordis the interior itself. She beckoned her into the room.

"Did they give names Jordis?" Talia asked curiously.

"Yes my Jarl. One's a Dark elf Priest, he gave the name Casimir."

_Casimir...? _Enlightenment soon dawned however. _Erandur, it has to be. _A smile crossed Talia's lips at the thought of seeing one of her friends again.

"Who else? You did say _visitors._"

The question sent a scowl to the Sword-maiden. Talia noticed it immediately.

"Who else? Jordis?" A sullen breath escaped the Housecarl's lips at the mention of her name. She answered cautiously.

"It's... Delphine."

The name took her by complete surprise. _I thought she was still in Sky Haven. Evidently not._ Talia realised morosely.

"You're serious? It was truly her?" She pressed despite knowing the truth of it.

"I'm positive my Jarl, she gave the name Caroline to me and the Auxiliaries outside, and told us all she was a Priest too. But it's her, I swear by the Nine it is."

With a fit of resignation, she pried herself from the windows view, turning at once to Jordis standing stalwart behind her.

"Let's see what they want."

With a curt nod her Housecarl turned, and began the descent downstairs.

_By the Gods. If it's not one thing it's another! I swore I heard her voice too! At least Esbern hasn't accompanied her. _The Jarl of Windhelm had but moments to focus herself. It wouldn't be enough of course._I'll tell her the truth, it's all I can do._ With a fresh sigh and a hesitant gulp, she waited patiently.

Before long, Talia could hear their voices, chatting idling as they ascended the stairway.

"_-I haven't been to Solitude in decades. I trained as a Ba__rd here once." _a husky masculine voice uttered. A short reply came from a woman.

"_I'd never of thought you were the Bardic type... Casimir."_

"_I wasn't always a servant of Mara... Caroline. I've lived a long time."_

"_Longer than me?"_

"_Much longer."_

The sounds of their voices were the final confirmation. The female was assuredly Delphine, acting Grandmaster of the Blades. Whilst the male happened to be Erandur, a Priest of Mara and now also due to Talia's own insistence, Prior to the Order of the Blades.

It was Erandur she saw first as his hooded head came into her line of sight. The first to enter her bedroom. He was still wearing the robes bequeathed to him by the Priesthood of the Divines. His Russet and Orange Vestments were clearly new however. There were no frays or creases of any sort, nor were there any stained patches of crimson or dirt. Thankfully, the Dunmer still remembered both his curtsey and his past friendship. He bowed with sincere grace and arose seamlessly.

"It's a pleasure to see you once again, Talia." a warm smile drew across his features after the statement. She gladly reciprocated in kind.

"It's a pleasure to see you again also."

_It can't be all bad with Erandur here. He's a testament to how someone can change their life around for the better._

Talia's smile quickly retreated however upon noticing Delphine. The Breton's expression appeared neutral yet she could plainly see the ire within her eyes. The veteran Blade, like Erandur, wore vestments of the faith.

_Two priests paying a__ chance visit to the slayer of Alduin. No doubt to bestow the compassion, understanding and love of Mara. Have mercy; how iconic. Does... Erandur even know of our quarrel about Paarthurnax? _There was no way of knowing yet.

"Talia..." Delphine said quietly, as she pulled down the priestly cowl she wore.

"...we need to talk."

"Privately."

* * *

"_Unmaketh the God, unmaketh the man."_

_**- Lord Pelladil Naarifin**_

_**Haarfingar Hold: Solitude. Proudspire Manor.**_

It was the first time Erandur noticed it. A sense of confrontation and hidden petulance shimmered between the two, Blade and Dragonborn.

Delphine's sentence was ice-tipped and awash with soundless choler. The pair stared at one another silently. He quickly turned his gaze once more to Talia. Her features were wordless, yet her eyes of incandescent Grey spoke a different tale. Defiance burned passionately within them, as did bitterness.

Talia answered. "This is my home and it is private enough. My Housecarl Jordis will stay here."

"Talia!" Delphine rebuked, to the Dunmer's surprise.

"Caroline or _Delphine!_ Or whoever you're pretending to be." Came the heated reply.

The Dunmer was taken aback with it. Yet Erandur knew not the true reasoning for their negative emotions or outbursts. The priest of Mara and Blades Prior could not judge, not until the subject of their disagreement was out.

"Fine. Have it your way." Delphine relented. "You _are _going to listen to what I say though." She stated more fervently.

"I always do, even when I disagree with it."

The older woman sighed heavily, now speaking in a more restrained manner. "Yes. That's true. So you know why we ask it of you." The reaction of course was something even he failed to expect despite the ever rising tension.

"Ask? _Ask? _You mean order! Oh I remember what you said! How could I forget! _'You're either with us or against _us.' So it's either I follow your direction or... what? You'll kill the one person you swore to protect? The person your Order has been searching for since the last Septim Emperor?" She stopped to catch her breath. Waving away the attempted protests from Delphine.

"_Niid_! You'll listen to me! _I fought Alduin_! No one else! No one stood with me, only _Paarthurnax_. He fought his own _Zeymah_!And when I sent the World-Eater back to Akatosh; three souls from the Halls of Sovngarde stood by me. True heroes who were taught the _Thu'um _by that very same_ Dovah_. The Greybeards were right about you! _Bruniik Mey_!"

Delphine's jaw sharply locked, partially in evident frustration, partly in fear of what Talia might in future say. Despite his own ignorance in the matter, Erandur interceded, in an effort to defuse the situation.

"May I ask what this is truly about?"

The two women turned about, now staring unexpectedly at him. It was the Dragonborn who responded warily.

"_Paarthurnax_."

Erandur knew at once. "Then he is not dead, is he?" It was a statement of fact, no more. The look upon Talia's features proved it conclusively.

"No. I couldn't. He's changed." An unexpected look of sadness engulfed her. Shame too accompanied it, no doubt because of her sudden tumultuous attitude. The Priest of Mara saw confusion also upon Talia's features. Erandur had heard her clear and true. In her anger, some of her words had not come forth in her native Tamrielic.

_No__, no. She speaks the language of the Dragon. Did she herself realise then? _Yet before Erandur could question it, Delphine continued their argument undeterred.

"You mean, you _wouldn't_." she interjected. "The wyrm lives still despite everything he's done."

Before Talia could retort, the Blade's Grandmaster held up a hand. Her expression now clearly indignant.

"That Dragon killed thousands of our ancestors, _thousands, _Talia!Yet you say he's _changed._ Dragons can't change their scales. They'll always feel the urge to dominate, it's their way. Always has been, always will be. Paarthurnax deservesto die. I've said it once! I'll say it a thousand times!"

"You're right." The affirmation was a further surprise. The young Indoril continued unabated.

"You're absolutely right, about the first part at least. He told me that himself, said the Oblivion damned same thing. You know why? Because... he trusted me. A _Dovah_ trusting a _Dovahkiin_! Not a day goes by when he doesn't feel his blood calling. Willing him to take back power and control, just like he'd once done at the _Viing _of Alduin. Do you know how that feels? To constantly battle against it; your own nature? To refuse yourself? To deny the very being, the very essence of what made you, _you_?..." Erandur heard her voice crack, "...To kill your own blood?"

Talia slumped downwards onto her bed and looked up from the new position. The same sorrow he'd noted before cast a pallid shade upon her snowy complexion. This was about more than Paarthurnax, it was obvious. Fortunately this time, Delphine clearly saw it too, the anger upon her features drained at once. Concern and worry replaced the ire.

_Thanks be to Mara. _He intoned inwardly at the sudden change in emotion.

"Talia... what's wrong? Talk to me."

"I killed him and I didn't even... care... until after he was dead upon the snow. The Thalmor too, I _enjoyed _their suffering. I _wanted_ them dead. I didn't _care _then either_, _not an ounce. I didn't even pity them as _Odahviing_ melted their armour then ripped them apart, it was only when nearly all of their company were dead, did I _command_ him to stop. Do I deserve to die?"

Delphine didn't answer. Erandur himself had little to say, despite his years as a Priest, but he tried nonetheless.

"No. You do not. Mara has mercy for all." The Dunmer soothed.

"Yet no mercy for Dragons?" Talia retorted angrily. Immediately however he noticed the regret at her own response.

"Even for them. All are children of Mara. Every creature, great or small, deserves compassion and understanding." He replied from belief and rote. She smiled but a little, then turned her attention to Delphine.

"You never asked me why." Talia uttered.

"_Why?_"

"Why I choose not to kill Paarthurnax. He hasn't hurt a soul in over three Eras. By Talos! The Dwemer probably still walked the Halls below Markarth then! Can you imagine that? Not since the first Era. He's resisted continuously. Yet what of me?"

The Breton still, it appeared, was at a loss. "What of you? What do you mean?"

"I... was glad those Thalmor died painfully and I despise myself for it! Days before that I took the head off of my own cousin. The only living kin I know of." The young Nord paused to gather her thoughts.

"It's in my blood too. _Ysmir, _Dragon of the North. I share as much kindred-ship with them as I do all of you. But Delphine, make no mistake, _if Paarthurnax_ errs from his daily struggle; I promise to you now, I _will_ end him. But he won't though, I know he won't."

The wearied Blades expression appeared masked at Talia's statement.

"People change. Perhaps Dragons can too." Erandur found himself saying. He continued knowingly.

"Delphine. I admit I have not been honest with you. I haven't always been a Priest of Mara."

A hint of mirth crept to her features at the statement in spite of everything. A slight grin that broke her previously blank demeanour. It was a refreshing occurrence in this near hostile environment. Talia already knew of which Erandur spoke. To her credit, and his own thanks, she held her tongue on the matter.

"Well, I didn't think you were born a Priest. Anyway you said you were a Bard in Solitude. What of it?"

"I was in the Bard's college for a short time. Before they..." he stopped, suddenly bereft of confidence. A kindly smile from Talia however brought the surety of his tale back to light.

"...found out my affiliation with Vaermina. I was ostracised, outcast and soon found myself in the Daedra's priesthood itself."

Delphine visibly stiffened. "When was this?"

"Over two decades ago. I'm nearing my one hundredth year in Second seed. For eighteen years, I've served Lady Mara. Fighting my own inner demons, my past sins and guilt. I ask for forgiveness endlessly. Yet I've changed, I'm not the mer I was. Nor will I turn to that past life again."

"Why are you telling me this now?" The Breton questioned sharply.

"Because I believe in this woman. Talia may merely be '_Dragonborn' _to you, but to me, she helped me forget the past and killed many of those demons I spoke of. She's a true friend. I think you should believe in her too for once."

Delphine's teeth gritted and her jaw again clenched firmly shut. Silence chilled the air about them. Erandur secretly pleaded for a response, whether it was good or ill. He saw a similar gaze upon Talia's face also. Her features invoked a sense of forlorn hope, a slim expectation that the older woman would agree and ultimately place faith in her belief, despite their past turmoil. The Breton answered.

"Look, it still doesn't change my opinion, Prior Erandur." She stated firmly, uncaring now at the usage of his current name. She turned her attention to Talia.

"But he's right about one thing, you are _Dragonborn_ and that means something. We _need _you. Esbern and me. We're the last of our kind-"

Erandur interrupted her then, not unkindly. "Not the last."

"No. Not the last. That's thanks to you, Talia."

At that, the Prior of Sky Haven remembered their number in his thoughts. The Blades of a new dawn. Guardians of a fresh Era. They counted at merely six, including himself, Esbern and Delphine.

_Mjoll the Lioness, Stalwart and true._

_Lydia Dragonbane, loyal to the end and one who would carry any burden._

_Even Ghorbash the Iron Hand, for all his enmity to me, he is faithful to Talia above all else._

His mind stopped, it was altogether apparent.

Delphine knew, or at least now saw the obvious. All were loyal to the Dragonborn, even he. It was their oath, their _true _oath, not the barely admissible one the Breton had echoed vaguely to them all.

The Dunmer had searched for it in his time at Sky Haven. Even venturing to Markarth in an attempt to garner more literature upon the ancient Order. There were scant remains, yet Erandur had found what he looked for. Without even uttering those genuine ancient words, their loyalty had already been assured. It was to the Dragonborn above all else. Talia was their leader and the one person they were sworn to protect. Everything else was secondary.

Delphine spoke once more. The Blade's voice now audibly softened.

"I'll place my faith in you, but by the Nine; I hope you remember your promise."

* * *

_"Fate drives you, but you follow your own path. Choose wisely, lest you wander into evil."_

_**- Jurgen Windcaller**_

_**The Imperial City: White-Gold Tower. Her Imperial Majesties quarters.**_

"Deep breaths darling. In... and out. Good, good. We don't want you fainting do we?"

Leonara's mind was seething with activity. Elisa helped a little but even with her advice, questions of failure and imagined machinations of embarrassment poured endless into her thoughts.

_Will they even lis__ten? What if they simply laugh at whatever I say? 'The Tearful Empress'. The girl who wept on the seat of Sundered Kings. Amaund's young mare._ She recoiled visibly at the latter thought, disgust rolled across her features at the mere mention of it.

_He'll not touch me again._

"Leonara? You look troubled. What's the matter?" Her aunt Elisa asked, lovingly. In spite of that, she deflected the true reason of her trouble.

"It's my first meeting. Of the Elder Council I mean. What... what do I say? What do I do? What if I feel sick?"

A warm laugh spirited from the Dowager Empress' lips. "Nerves are to be expected. But if you want my advice? Just watch and listen, that's all there is to it, and if you're feeling under the weather, excuse yourself. Inform them that the Empress wishes for a recess."

"Just that? Watch, listen and excuse myself?"

"Yes! You have to learn first. So yes, listen, observe. It can't be helped if you feel queasy either..." she left the rest unsaid, _"...unless you inquire about a midwife, a__nd have Amaund find out."_

Leonara was still unsure. No, unprepared and utterly unsuited. Leonara hadn't been raised for this. It was beyond her and the young Empress knew it. How she yearned for the shores of Anvil, to be with Constans. The young count was of an age with her and it was no secret that they had been infatuated with one another, it was one of the reasons their betrothal was agreed upon in the first place.

_I was to be Countess Umbranox. Not this... not this._

"Can you accompany me?" She implored.

"What would the Council think?"

"I don't care, I want you on it. Next to me. You're-" she paused, correcting herself. "-you were Imperial mother and you'll always be Dowager Empress. They have no right to refuse you."

"You're learning." Elisa said, as a thin smile crossed her lips.

Leonara, at least, had dressed the part for her first official Council session. She was attired in the finest vestments from her newly acquired wardrobe, fit for an Empress. Her maids and seamstress' had done an astonishing job with her new garment in particular.

Empress Leonara wore a neck high crimson dress, one which was fabulously laced and decorated with pearlescent silver inlays. Budding swirls and patterns danced up and down her waist and skirt ending finally at the dresses ankle hemlines.

From the hidden cleft of her breasts down to her concealed navel was the embroidered image of the Red Diamond. Outlined in argent, its centrepiece – a Dragon – was trimmed in purest amber gold and given form in Imperial Ruby. The decorations continued onwards then, tracing a path towards her arms, ending finally at her silver gloved hands.

Leonara's long brunette hair was also pinned neatly behind her head, in the Chignon style of Evermore. _Let my darling husband notice tha__t so he may confuse himself with its meaning._

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Elisa questioned, jarring her from her thoughts.

"What? What is it?" She asked suddenly, bereft of an answer.

"Your crown. Here let me put it on."

The crown still rested snugly on a Silver pillow upon her Vanity dresser. Leonara had completely forgotten about it. She gave a faltering smile and tried to curtsy as graciously as she could, as Elisa handled the elegant crown and placed it gently upon her brow.

In truth, it was not the diadem of her coronation. The Red Diamond Crown itself was too heavy for her and because of this; the goldsmiths of the Imperial city had been given the order to fashion a more slender crown to better fit her slight head.

It was wrought in Gold and encircled with splendid pearls of the great Rumare. Seven further petite gemstones adorned the front, all with varying colours and hues, all circling a larger precious gem. A flawlessly cut crimson Diamond which crested upwards to a point. She knew the symbolism. Eight exquisite treasures of the world for the Eight Divines in Aetherius above.

"You'll grow into the other one, I'm sure." Her aunt said kindly. No doubt, she'd noticed the hollowness of her expression.

_Maybe, maybe not. _She was uncertain. Her forefathers had always worn the Red Diamond crown since the ending of the Interregnum, no soul before then had dared touch it, unless they held the strength to keep it upon their brow.

Titus Mede himself; Leonara's grand-sire's own great great grandfather, had been the first since the old Septims to be crowned with it. All Emperors after him had also worn it whilst upon the Ruby throne. Without alteration, or replacement. Yet _now._

She saw it clearly. _The throne was never meant for me, neither w__as the crown. All will see it and reap scorn upon me because of it._

Leonara attempted to will the thoughts away. Yet they too, now gnarled ruthlessly at her mind.

"I can't do this." she heard herself whisper.

"What was that, darling? My ears must be going."

"Nothing, auntie Elisa." She lied.

"Ah good, good. You're ready then? Yes?"

_As ready as I ever will be. At least I look like the part. _She thought cheerlessly, then nodded at her aunt's query.

Now would be her baptism of fire and her official induction into the Empire's true working. Beforehand, members of the Council had merely asked for her signature and she'd reluctantly given it. Now though, she needed to act like an Empress – or so Elisa said.

"I'm ready." she reiterated, more firmly.

And as ever, when she exited her bedchamber, the Penitus Oculatus were waiting.

The journey in itself wasn't a terribly long one. Yet due to her self-imposed isolation in the Imperial Library, everything appeared unfamiliar to Leonara's eyes.

What's more,she had not yet fully noticed the security about her at all time. Of course the young Empress _knew _the Penitus Oculatus were there. Ready and waiting to defend her person from any and all threats. Yet to _see _them; a whole company of their agents, alongside the Palace guard with their enamelled Steel Plate and ornately crested helmets, was _quite_ unexpected. She even noticed how those self-same Guards, who held constant vigil upon the circling passageways, brought their blades up in salute as she passed. It was a remarkable sight. She tried not to stare.

Leonara continued to walk onwards with as much regal pose as she could muster. It was there, nearing the Elder Council Chamber, when she noted the new commander of the Penitus Oculatus, Hector Aurelian.

He bowed deeply before her...

...and stayed bowed.

Elisa coughed quietly. At that point she turned to her aunt and noticed the subtle tilt of her head to the man before them. For a few brief moments she hadn't a clue what the older woman meant, yet enlightenment promptly dawned upon her. _By the Eight, even the little things, things even I was taught in childhood..._

"You may rise, Commander." she intoned at last. He did so immediately.

A further _'cough' _escaped her aunt's lips. Leonara grimaced inwardly. Yet, quickly remembering, she extended her right arm and hand. The hand whose ring finger _should _have borne the signet ring of the Imperial bloodline. It was still in Skyrim, were the late Emperor's body continued to lay.

_That is another thing they'll notice._

To Commander Aurelian's credit however, he placed a solemn kiss upon her outstretched fingers, despite the evident omission there.

He rose once more.

"Your Imperial Majesty. It is again an honour to see you." Aurelian avowed formally. Thankfully Leonara did not misremember her curtseys.

"It is an honour to see you also, Commander." she answered. "Is the Council waiting?"

"Yes, your excellency. They are now in attendance, as is the Emperor Consort."

_My...husband._ She could think of far harsher words than that for him.

"Very well. Lead the way, Commander."

..._and pray for me. _Those words as ever, were left unvoiced.

Leonara counted her steps for the rest of the journey. The number came to thirty-seven when she found herself peering at the massive steel enforced Chamber door of the council. That was a recent addition, she had never chanced upon such before.

If truth be told however, the newly crowned Empress had only ever visited the Council chambers twice, both times she'd been with her mother and Imperial Cousins. That had been when she was much younger. Then, however, the room had been a building site, a hive of reconstruction and repair. Indeed, most of the Imperial Palace back in those years long past had been dominated by the chisel work of the stonemasons along with the cutting saws' edge of the craftsmen and carpenters. Scaffold's had donned the surrounding columns, both outside the central chamber and inside also. In the inner circle, Leonara had remembered peering upwards to the innards of the Tower above. Even there, workers and painters ploughed their trade upon the temporary supports as they stretched wildly upwards until her sight could scarcely chance upon them. Now, she reasoned, it would look entirely different.

She braced herself.

Commander Aurelian stepped forward and hammered upon the door thrice. Silence echoed in reply.

And then, the large doorway opened automatically. Not outwards or inwards but _apart._ A centrepiece of silvern steel turned clockwise and as it ended its movement the entrance parted, retreating slowly into the reinforced walls on either side.

Leonara immediately peered inside, where she chanced upon the figures already seated around the inner circle below. Ignoring them, her sight turned upwards as she began her entrance. The chamber was vast. Bigger than Leonara had recalled.

It felt entirely perplexing that such a large room would be used despite the mere two dozen or so individuals who called themselves the Elder Council. Triple that number could have fit inside with comfort and still, there would have been room for nigh on three hundred more.

"All rise for her Imperial Majesty, Leonara Motierre, the first of her name. By the Divines, Empress of Tamriel and defender of the Eight."

They rose, to every man and woman. Some did so with dignity and grace, others still found themselves to their feet with open resignation.

_I don't wish to be here either. Yet I have to be. _Leonara mused.

"Now allow them to sit down again." she heard her aunt whisper to her left. Leonara did as she was bid.

"Be seated, all of you. Please." She stated, with as much confidence she could muster. It was enough.

After that was when she was ushered to her own seat by a palace retainer.

The ruby throne itself.

Brought now from the Temple of the one to again rest in the White-Gold tower and the new Imperial Palace. It had been placed upon a raised dais overlooking the central mesa, the nearest seats on either side being near three metres away. Above all and equal to none.

_But still isolated, even within a crowd..._

Leonara shook off her thoughts.

"I know where it is I'm to sit, it's quite obvious, but... thank you regardless." she said, waving the retainer respectfully away.

Her aunt chuckled at Leonara's words. It sent a brief smile to her lips at the sound of it. It _was _a good feeling. However, it was not to last. As she rested herself upon the throne that slender shred of happiness, of veiled joy, disappeared within an instant.

"Your Imperial Majesty. It is an honour that you've joined us." _Amaund. _Her husband, the Emperor Consort.

His very voice sent a heatless shiver arcing down her spine. They were hollow, deceitful and disrespectful words and from a man of similar qualities too. Leonara immediately felt anger rise within. She wanted to wipe the duplicitous grin off his face. Yet Elisa had cautioned her, soon after she'd revealed the beliefs held about their families' murder. Many of the council supported the Duke of Skingrad. Besides, without sure evidence, simply ordering his execution would lead to wide-spread dissent over perceived tyrannical power, perhaps even civil-war. Why those around her supported him,Leonara had nary a clue or thought. He was a despicable creature in her eyes.

Instead, Leonara merely nodded at her husband's statement. _Watch, Listen and learn. _The young Empress would do just that. But first...

She started "Honoured..." then paused, taking in a deep breath, Leonara spoke again.

"Honoured Council Members, it is an... honour to be here also. As... you all may have noticed, the dowager Empress of my noble late uncle Attrebus and the Imperial mother of my cousin Titus is here also. At my insistence she will be granted a place in this council."

Indifferent stares followed for the most part, they did not seem to care or mind.

A handful however nodded their heads in silent agreement. For one, Leonara noticed the quiet support from the representative of Evermore. Their banner, one of a Crimson Knight upon a field of Gold, held aloft behind her council member. The sigil of the Breton Kingdom. The same arrangement applied to all the represented counties, dukedoms, Jarl-holds and kingdoms upon the council.

This was also true of the arms of those who were not in attendance. Leonara knew of the great estates, counties and duchies which held sway over Cyrodiil, of the Kingdoms and statelets of High Rock and the holds of Skyrim also. That at least had been in her Chorrol upbringing. Eleven seats were left vacant.

_The black fox of Kvatch. The serpentine vines of Cheydinhal, and... is that the Obsidian Panther of East Nibenay? All of the Skyrim holds, too..._

She scanned the remaining figures and devices about her, the Synod and the Council of Whispers both had their representatives as did the Imperial Watch, each of them hiding their motives behind veiled expressions. It was who Leonara noticed at the last however which brought about mixed emotions. The White Oak of Chorrol and that of her father, Crassius Vici. A look of approval at least was drawn up her sire's face.

Yet even then, the Duke of Colovia appeared sullen, his features pallid and unhealthy. Her heart sank. Leonara hadn't spoken to him since news reached the Imperial city of her mother and sisters death. And after Titus' murder, the newly anointed Empress had wilfully ignored his attempts at conversation whenever they had chanced upon one another. She suddenly regretted her behaviour.

_He's broken, lost... like me. Yet__ I've had someone to talk with..._She regained a measure of focus, sending her gaze to her still speaking husband whose seat was near opposite her own. _Watch, listen, learn. _Leonara reiterated to herself.

"...and as ever, the Imperial mother of our sorely missed Emperor, is greatly welcomed upon our council."

Leonara broke off her stare slowly, looking now to her aunt. Resolve found her then as she saw the veiled look of ire upon Elisa features. A sense of kindred hate to the man who'd just spoken.

"Of course she is welcome, _dear_ husband. Now my aunt requires a seat, next to me. Someone hurry up and get her one."

Leonara's caustic tone surprised everyone, most of all her. Gone were the dispassionate stares and indifferent looks of the council about her, now she saw something else, was it _alarm?_ Leonara couldn't be certain. At least now the chamber had the good grace to appear attentive.

Aunt Elisa was soon sat next to her also, as servants hurried for a further chair to be placed closely to the right of the ruby throne. The position would not be lost upon her Elder council or Amaund.

"Watch, listen and learn? Hmmm?" Elisa whispered quizzically, as she placed herself upon the impromptu seat. It took all her efforts not to blush.

"I shall." Leonara finally replied, with her new-found sense of composure.

Again she looked towards her husband, noticing as ever his tactful demeanour when in the public domain. He smiled briefly and inclined his head politely towards her. It was all an act, one which she had seen first-hand.

"If it pleases your excellency, may we begin?" her husband purred.

Leonara waved him onwards. She'd save her breath for people better than him.

And so her first official Elder council began.

"Ladies and Lords, compatriots of the Empire. Welcome. It is our first session in nearly two weeks and much has happened since that time."

She noticed his deliberate pause. The way his arms orated as well as his voice.

"I, of course bring news from Skyrim and also from elsewhere, yet first I must inform you all of the current investigation into our late Emperor's murder."

Another brief intermission.

_How can he speak of such crimes __without even flinching? _She mused darkly, yet listened none the less.

"...The traitorous Gaius Maro, as we all know, did not act alone. Marius Tullius was also complicit in the assassination of our Emperor and, alas, his brother too." A further pause followed.

It was needed to let what had just been uttered sink in. The revelation was surprising, for Amaund to lay the blame upon not only a Duke of the Empire but a General was utterly damning. Leonara simply couldn't fathom it. What's more, the Elder council appeared to take the information in their stride, there were no shocked expressions, no explanations of surprise, it was as if they-

_-already knew... this is for my benefit then._ Despite that revelation, Amaund was still queried immediately upon it.

"So you're saying a General of the Empire and his entire Legion has turned traitor whilst... also fighting traitors? What possible reason could he have for that, Councillor?"

She searched for the source of the familiar voice. Finding it at once. _Father... per__haps some don't know after all._

"I do not know the mind of traitors, Councillor Vici." She heard Amaund lie.

"-but let it not be said that I have not tried to find the reasoning behind it. The Penitus Oculatus have helped greatly in this regard. At least in finding out whowas a part of this duplicitous plot. As you can all clearly see, Julius Maro and Farwil Indarys are not here today. And why? You may ask yourselves, it is because their treason has been found out and laid bare."

It appeared the answer was good enough for her father as he sunk back into his seat, eyeing her once more with mournful eyes. _No, no! Ask more questions! He's lying! _She wanted to shout, yet she stilled herself. The Penitus Oculatus simply wouldn't _let _her husband say such things without at least some form of proof.

Thankfully someone else inquired about what she daren't.

Again Leonara espied for a face to give to the voice she heard, and upon seeing the banner above their person, her heart leapt. The white arrowheads of Anvil lay behind him and but for a moment, the likeness overwhelmed her. The semblance to Constans Umbranox was remarkable, yet, much to her disappointment it was not him. His sandy blonde hair, held a hint of wizened grey, whilst his angular features were too rugged and mature.

It was one of Constans' uncles, more likely the youngest, Amiel. Leonara reasoned bitterly.

"Well then, what evidence is there? True, we all signed the execution warrant for that upstart Tullius upon seeing his treasonous missive. But my late brother saw no treachery in old Maro, indeed he valued him as a friend. Now that Farwil, maybe... his son Ilver too. You can't tell with those Indarys. Allies of the Haalu as well, that's even worse for our relations with Blacklight. Redoran's pogrom still haven't snuffed out Helseth or that mother of his yet either."

_Execution warrant? Treasonous missive? _Leonara silently queried, she'd seen no such things... unless.

_By the Gods no... _She felt her heart sink, the Elder council had already received her signature, the young Empress had signed everything they'd placed in front of her, without thought or resistance, only hollow reluctance.

..._Just so they'd leave and I could be left to my books._

The discussion continued, despite the ramifications of what her imposed exile in the Imperial Arcanaeum had wrought.

"The Maros' and Tullius' have been joined by marriage. Who's to say Julius didn't know of his grandson's treason? Farwil was ever an ally of Marius too. Cheydinhal and Aurus are united together in this, it's a certainty. I for one am with Councillor Motierre in this."

Those comments came from an elderly female. Thankfully, Leonara knew her to be Larina Carvain, the Matriarch of her family and the Countess of Bruma. She was soon followed by another council member who uttered a similar reference of support for her husband.

_A Terentius of Bravil... Not the count though. He's far too skinny. If only they knew what my husband did to his first____ wife__._ She thought cheerlessly.

The Terentius dynast was then followed by a Breton, judging by his stature, likeness and arrogant tone. A relation of Motierre through his mother and by the Eight her own mother-in-law. It was Daggerfall's representative and heir, Achille Lysandus. One of Amuand's many cousins.

_Near all either support him or are his kin..._

"Rebellion is in the air. With Skyrim in all out revolt, it was only a matter of time before others tried. Whispers even reach High Rock of sedition in the Imperial Legions, particularly the Fourth. Whilst the Nords are rebellious by nature. Are the two connected, Councillor Motierre?"

For his part, her own _dear _husband appeared to bask in the seemingly chaotic council session. There was no order or uniformity about it. No control...

_Perhaps that is why Titus is dead and I sit here in his place... a puppet on a throne. _A weak Empress for powerful nobles. It was their greatest dream. Apart from her earlier dialogue, Leonara realised, the Elder council to every man and woman had ignored her presence almost entirely.

"Hmm. Who's missing here child?" Elisa asked suddenly, again taking Leonara out of her musings.

The Elder council still appeared to be completely oblivious to both her and her aunt, and so she answered.

"The Count of Kvatch, the Count of Cheydinhal and the Duke of-" Elisa cut her speech short.

"No, no, no. That's painfully obvious Leonara. Now, ignore those for a moment my darling. Forget that Skyrim have no representatives too. What is missing?"

She scanned the chamber once more, noting the empty seats as well as those occupied. Agents of the Penitus Oculatus stood sentinel upon the perimeter, as did the immaculate Palace guard. Again she threw her gaze about, trying to see any discrepancy. Leonara saw nothing awry or any absences of note.

_What am I missing?_

Defeated, she sighed. A forlorn look finding her features. It was this that led her aunt to the obvious. Leonara hadn't a clue what or who was absent.

"I'll tell you a secret then, one which everyone here appears to know but you." Elisa whispered, carefully.

"This Elder council meeting, all of it. Is in direct violation of the White-Gold concordat. Where is the Thalmori _'advisor'_ to the chamber? The Concordat stipulates quite clearly that meetings of the Empire's leadership are to be overseen by one of _them._ How else do they see if we're following their rules?"

Leonara looked about again, yet she needn't have. Elisa was correct, as always. There were no Aldmeri agents around the chamber mesa, nor any mer for that matter. Only men. The Thalmor were a necessary evil, one which was to simply be put up with, or so her many tutors had secretly muttered.

"Isn't their absence a good thing?" she asked honestly. As she paid a brief glance to the Elder council, who were still proposing assumed judgements upon House Maro and Indarys.

Elisa did likewise, casting her ears to the conversations around them before she answered severely.

"Don't be so dense, Leonara, or do you believe a further war against the Aldmeri Dominion will be good for Cyrodiil?"

"No of course not!" she cried aloud, much to her unexpected embarrassment. Leonara's voice echoed crisp and cleanly through the chamber, sending the mass of councillor's into an abrupt silence. Her features turned a redden hue as their many eyes suddenly turned upon her person. However it was not her voice that tumbled out in a fit of anxiety and nervousness.

"Your excellency... my apologies! I'm... sorry if I've said something offensive." Achille Lysandus uttered. His words suddenly bereft of their past haughtiness.

"... I merely asked if we should use the legions... to bring the traitors to justice..." he shuttered.

_By the eight, so much for watching, listening and learning._ She composed herself as best she could, taking a sideways glance to Elisa as she did as such, noticing the subtle shake of her aunts head, a veiled suggestion, a hint of guidance, as all the Empire watched. Waiting in anticipation for her to speak, it was all Leonara needed. The Empress spoke then, with a sense of confidence she never thought was possible for herself. Anger fuelled it, as she thought of her family, of her hatred of their killer.

"No! The legions will stay where they are. I want irrefutable proof of the accused's involvement in the murder of my family! And when it is found, then you can have your Deadra hunts and your idle debates! I will hear no more of this." she paused, out of breath at her ireful speech. Then she turned her sight upon her husband.

"Councillor Motierre. Skyrim. Tell me of Skyrim."

Leonara could have heard a pin drop from the height of the White-Gold tower after those words left her lips. Silence echoed deafeningly around her. She too, could still feel her features burning fiercely, yet not now of embarrassment, but of anger, of pure unmistakable wrath.

"At once your excellency!" Amaund mouthed humbly, the expression of shock and utter confusion upon his features clear. Realisation appeared to dawn upon him that his_ 'young mare', _would not bend, or bow to his whims any more.

_This is my Empire, I rule. Not you. And when your treason is discovered and the evidence is clear. I'll enjoy seeing your head upon a spike. _He'd never live to see the birth of their child.

Motierre would rue the day he hurt her family.

* * *

_**Authors notes:**_

_1.__I've given Jarl Korir the Clan name "Free-Winter" as whenever he is ousted in game, he and his family take up residency Brunwulf Free-Winter's house in Windhelm. I've made them relatives of one another because of this._

_2. Dragon Language Translations_

_Niid. (No.)_

_Zeymah. (Brother.)_

_Bruniik Mey. (Savage Fool.)_

_Viing. (Wing.)_


End file.
